The time had truly come
To burn the anticipatory candle
A few too many beers for the boys, girls in strappy, open-toe sandals
The beach steering them away from an existence oh so highly strung
A rung above and far, far more
A nine-to-five life they simply abhored
She wouldn’t, couldn’t say no to her tipple of choice either – a rum and coke
That atop copious enjoyable, utterly intoxicating conversations all of their own accord
The odder than odd toke of a haphazard cigarette, some idiot may have left it burning away at the table
An ounce of momentary regret come the morning time, trembling, peering over her bare-naked shoulder
So far from goddamn sober, seemingly one helluva infectious hangover
Something of a chokehold, an eggs benedict to smould the fire, if only for a while
But the demise continued on inside of her, that dredge, a Mona Lisa smile painted upon
A slur disguised nothing and absolutely everything at the very same time
Thinking about it some more, she really did need to hide
Away from a thankless job
Robbed, coaxed into crazy overtime
A fat and insanely overpaid boss called Bob
Veins throbbing, hair thinning
An out and out slob
Here’s the question though, the real deal-breaker, but who is it I refer to right near the end, her or Bob?!

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