dancing wicked wasted wolves

Temecula was good to me.
The juke box played Waylon.
The pool hall was large and empty.
A few ghosts with hollow eyes in each corner.
Sad bartender.
Just play some rock and roll she says.
Ok, I can do that.
Patsy cline.
Why would you choose that?
It seems fitting.
OK.
Outside the sun shines paralyzing.
For a second.
Southern California.
Stuck in Temecula.
A quick walk.
On my way again.
Up the mountain.
Take a piss on the valley below.
Serpent winding up and up.
Corners scream DEATH! DEATH!
To my temporary mountain home.
We the dancing wicked wasted wolves.
Away into the night.
Screaming.
Howling.