Quirk

I love to drive.
And see the sights.
Of people meeting, beneath street lights.
Young people and lovers.
On the run from their mothers.
Hoods up, covers.
The faces of the others.
Who are as close as brothers.
And the bouncers shudder.
And the fags are lit.
To the smell of fish n chips.
As people switch.
From pub to pub.
Bar to bar.
Club to club.
As we glug.
And forget the world.
Outside the walls.
As a tune falls.
It drops.
Rave.
Forget the day.
Let it play.
Run through your brain.
As you drain.
Another drink.
On the brink.
Of a tactical chundder.
Feeling under.
The seat for your phone.
It's time to get a taxi home.