Proof of Purchase

My boots are still on the bed,

leaving two muddy footprints on the sheets.

The room tastes like lime juice

and the copper heat of gold tequila

sweating out through my pores.

I found a crumpled slip of paper

for three carnitas tacos at 3:12 AM.

Twelve bucks I don't have

to soak up a night I can't find.

Outside, the pharmacy sign is a blue pulse

flickering in a sticky puddle

on the corner of Fourth and Nowhere.

My balance is a warning I haven't read yet.