Noche Cinco

T’was late Noche Cinco In a lonely cantina, Where a world-weary stranger Sits, sipping tequila. He’s perched at the bar, With shirt tails untucked Over surfer board shorts And sandals with socks. To his left, to his right There’s nary a soul. Couple of stragglers, a loner, Some last call night owls. He glug-guzzles his …