by The Asinthe Collective

Paris. 1888.  Five o’clock.  Rotten day.  Lousy weather.  Ugly people.  Waiter!  An absinthe!  Day improving.  Clouds interesting.  Girls prettier.  Waiter, another!  Day not bad.  Clouds miraculous.  Girls, so pretty.  Waiter, a third!  Beautiful girls.  I love them all.  Why won’t they come here?  I will write a poem–a poem so perfect, it will save mankind.  But first, another absinthe!