writing in odd places – michael jarmer

It’s the Lou Rawls they’re playing, which at first I mistake for Barry White, Lou Rawls and the rain, perhaps, that entices me to stay inside, ignoring the 47 inch screens lining every wall, muted today for Lou Rawls, the pinball machines, sports of all sorts, tennis of all sorts, grooving to “you’re gonna miss myContinue reading “#225: On Writing Poetry in a Sports Bar”