The party was in full swing as beer and whisky were downed as if the world was ending.
I happily drank more than most and sat in the corner, the internal haze of my time
Gazing back at me through frosted glass and my smile,
Permanently plastered on this English face, for a while stopped beaming.
The noise outside the Manhattan window, the cars driving down 77th Street, the people
On the sidewalk, cheering in humour, some shouting in pain
At the arguments that fuelled the city. The sound of a distant gunshot