Geocities, Fuck Yeah!

Sitting on a bed that's just a little to hard, staring at the wall paper. Just like every other run down, roach infested dive it's a couple of decades out of date and peeling at the edges. And what's with the pictures of the coffee mugs? Maybe the same burned out designer got the job to decorate every hotel in the world.

This is what it has come to? Us sitting across an old wooden table, the space between us a gaping void of indifference. The only contact is a brief glance, a minor meeting of the eyes filled with a million things unsaid. As always the ever present bottle of cheap Cuban rum is on hand to provide the only comfort, the only escape...

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