One more for the road

One more for the road...
I look down at myself and laugh:
The waistcoat and the notepad
at the bar,
drinking ales from a tankard.

I do what feels good,
but it has been pebble-dashed
by the recommendations
of the masses.

One more for the road
to fuel my heavy glare
as the nobodies strut past
with a sense of immortality.

What this lacks is choreography,
style and sense.

Self worship is abundant
and uglier that it once was
as the trolls make it a cave
where we are forced towards dankness
at the hands of something more embarrassing
than a kid with a notebook
at the bar.