Last night, while drinking a Guinness at Kelly’s up near Penn Circle, I saw one of the silliest damn displays I’ve ever seen at a bar. Right next to me, this dude starts scribbling something on a napkin, and he’s like working on it for a good long while. Eventually, he finishes up, and his arm moves away, revealing what he had been so furiously working on.

A poem.

Called “The Molecule.”

The title was underlined. I almost started laughing. In fact, I had to do a double-take when I saw it at first. I was hoping it was a to-do list, and not in fact a hastily scribbled napkin poem, drawn up at a bar by a pretentious poseur. But nope. It was definitely a poem.

Not to say people shouldn’t write poems and stuff. Or that they shouldn’t in public, but it was such a cheesy obvious embarrassing ploy. Like we’re just here to have a drink fella, not to be all mesmerized by your ability to write a shitty little dweeb poem on a napkin.