Five more skewers are placed on the grill.
The sizzling smell of succulence pervades the air
As red hot, charcoal flames seer through chicken flesh.

A dash of seven spices and sprinkle of soy sauce
Spill into the coals which burst forth in flame
Hungrily dancing to the mouth-watering melody
Of the sizzle and pop of skewers
atop the blackened cast iron grill.

“Sister!” shouts a drunk chasing his chicken with liqour
As he deepens the debt he has taken from tomorrow:
A loan of happiness to be brutally collected
By the shark of a wife he left lurking the waters at home.

But for now the man pays no attention to debt,
Much prefering to let his drunk eyes rest
On the soft complexion of the young waitress
Who graciously enables his addiction to escape.

Another round goes down at the bar
Whose sole occupant slowly succumbs
To the fermented grapes of Bacchus pleasure
And the delerious thoughts as deep as his wine is red
Only to find a box of fanzia behind the bar.


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