But don’t you wish that God himself had thought
of happy endings? Hadn’t left it all
to us and fairy tales? It seems a small
thing for a God to realize. He ought,
you’d think, to have that sort of thing well sussed.
But no. He gave us happy startings in
their place. Big deal. Free chips at the casino.
He knows the odds: you’re going to lose. I mean, no
self-respecting punter thinks they’ll win:
they’re buying time until the final bust.
And so, we’re buying time. I don’t suppose
you’d like another drink? I’ve got the cash.
I know a little bar where no one goes.
It isn’t far; it isn’t cool; it isn’t flash.