VOLUME 9 TABLE OF CONTENTS

SMOKEY'S END OF THE LINE

When you come in Smokey’s End Of The Line
you feel relaxation like the inside of worn-out shoe.
A sad brown atmosphere kinda overtakes you.
You’ll find a whole range of disappointments,
sombrero sized platters, a Tex-Mex way of thinking
and it’s all prehistoric Ho-Jo naughahide decor.

There’s always a body in that next to the last booth
drowned by unbearable sorrow and self disgust.

Booth divers, snorkel fish, come here to dive
over these thin wooden barriers, weekends mostly.
Smokey’s motto is, "Open to anyone presumed dead"
Cause of death here is not really death, you know,
it’s that side door mentality with average seating.

The last sparkle went out of here when Joe Barnes
put his ‘two-head’ snake on display, he wrote the label.
The lamentation...I’m sorry, I mean ...
the lamination came off the menus back in ‘91,
and they’re still tacky, course anything you want
you can get elsewhere for a lot less money.
This is one of the few places left that serves
two slices of white bread with every order.

Folks come here to get away from yard work
or a sink full of dishes or just be silent majority,
unhappy drunks or a ghost of drinking days past.

Things start to go downhill when your zonked out
club hoppers notice the corny pictures on the wall,
comment on the quaint raw floorboards and cheap wine
and put up a bad attitude that don’t wash off.

Hangovers take ‘eir toll by Sunday morning
You’re talking but they can’t even respond.
Suppose headaches and stomach aches
are much more important than conversation.

Some guys just like to sit right in front of these
big gritty photos of famous Hollywood lushes,
face to face with all their private symbols ...
a long deep slide into worthless-shit-hood,
if you ask me, pardon my expression.

Oh, never mind the menu items on the wall.
Think of ‘em as a gastro interrogative style
of soul search ... an opportunity to meditate.

From here, you can die, rise and recover,
or drink yourself into a coma,
the yard work and the dishes
will still be there when you decide.

©Jimmy Warner Design, 2001