An short poem to the guy who sat two rows behind me at tonight's Over The Rhine concert:

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Cell phone, it rings.
Ring, cell phone, ring.
Beer bottle, it tinkles
It tinkles noisly on the concrete floor.
Your laugh is loud, your cheers are harsh,
Your exclamations are random and out of place.
Ring, cell phone, ring.
Your demeanor is gruff, you smell like cigarettes,
And you keep leaving the door to the lobby open on your repeated trips for more beer.
RIng, cell phone, ring.
You pick up the phone and talk,
Despite the fact that the concert is still going on.
Ring, cell phone, ring.

You are a dick.


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Peace,
Justin