the smell of camels

he smells like foster's and cheap cigarettes but he doesn't seem to mind as

they surround him like a thick jacket on a june afternoon and

he laughs but it sounds like a moan, or maybe it's the smoke in his throat

catching his voice choking his voice choking his voice

he sounds for a minute like an actor, somebody you'd want to be

a smirking debonair someone

he thinks about this as he pulls up a chair and lights another camel

and chuckles again at the irony of it all and

this time it's sad and slow but no one has time to think about it because

he's ordering drinks for everyone at the table, he's shouting

bulleit for you a vodka tonic for me make that two you look like a maker's man

get that man a maker's

and now everyone's laughing

and the camel dies and he scatters its remains on the table,

reminds himself to clean it up later but he probably won't

and when the conversation fades everyone looks at him and

he swallows the last of his vodka tonic, they used too much ice, they always do

and when he speaks it's to say his goodbyes

he shakes hands shakes hands shakes hands

and the conversation stays gone and everyone just looks at each other

and they agree to call it a night, we'll continue this story next time, ha ha

and

they follow the smell of camels home.