Bar stool.

Sitting at the bar
In this empty dive
On a rainy day in November
Mind blurred
Staringt at the bottom of her empty glass
As if she would find answers there
But no leaves to read at the bottom
Of a cockail glass.
Time was passing her by
Life was passing her by
Part of the problem was outside by the door
Trenchcoat collar high up
Fedora hat quite low
Not moving
And that, for her,
Was a huge problem.