butter slicers & speakeasys

In short, I am not. In long, I've just begun.  Because it's the meaning behind it that matters, not the logic and practicality.  Not sure I believe it. Believe it.  

It was a butter slicer. Regifting gifts is one thing. I do it. We've all done it once.  But donating gifts back to the giver, for their garage sale, is hurtful.  I was witness. Judgements aside it's no problem of mine but they might find it hard to unwind.

Speakeasy, it's sounds cheesy but mostly it's sleazy.  Beer comes cheap, conversations are weak. But the band played loud. With heart.  It was well after dark and the sun would soon come out, but fingers twisting, bows sliding, and sticks beating, there was no stopping that melancholy melody.   In the end I felt queasy so we ditched that speakeasy. And now that we've left, I'm feeling a bit gruff lost in this mad symphony.