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Saturday Night MAG
We danced until our feet
Bled gin,
In 1920s fedora hats.
Mobster style.
Pinstripes wound up our black suits.
Spirals of smoke winding from the cigars,
Dangling out of our mouths.
Driving down the disparate streets,
On the eve of 2 a.m.
With the fuzz
In our rear-view mirror.
© Anonymous
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