profound notes

The flashing lights of a police car, like a disco at 65 miles per hour, briefly illuminated the dimly lit jazz bar. By the time I looked out the glass door, everything was back to normal.
No one else seemed to pay it any mind.
maybe I imagined it?
I certainly had reached the level to start imagining things.
In the faint yellow glow of the barlight, looking at my hands gently wrapped around the pint glass in front of me.
These are idle hands...
The bartender asked if I wanted another.
of course,
I asked for a pen. The black pen was placed by my hand, followed shortly by the pint of beer. I pulled a cocktail napkin close, scribbling;

"you really need to learn how to shake that ass"

I folded it, and placed it in my pocket, knowing full well that I would throw it out when I found it the next day, instead of following up on it's reminder.