A Dime and a Juke Box

I am the hero of this story that seems to have none.
I drink and write with a pace of perfection.
No symphonies in my ear tonight.
No orchestra of violin strings to calm my foreshadowing heart.
I have the hum of a hundred conversations around.
I dismiss them and add them to my tale all the same.
To write a blog, a novel, or just scribbles on a bar napkin

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