Oh Billy.

He didn't like it when
I went home with
his bartenders because
he loved them in his
own strange way,
and maybe he had an
eye open as he
slept in the uncomfortable
leather semi-circle chairs in
the corner,
and I know he felt
bad that time he fired
Jenna in a huff
because he found me
waiting downstairs,
hiding behind a pillar
in front of the bank next
door.

When he won the
lotto one day he
said he'd fly us
all to Florida,
but he just went to
Florida and lost all the
money,
and came back
no more defeated than
before and had the
balls to tell Suki to
go fuck himself.

It was funny
to see old Billy,
brown as a leather
suitcase drinking
cold white beers in
the park like a
millionaire.

He'd been something
once,
had owned Miami and
fucked women in the
upstairs after the
doors were locked,

so when a psychic told
him he'd die at 50
he just said no,
and kept on being
Billy the piece of shit
with sad stories
and bad teeth,
bad breath and a
dick that didn't
work anymore.

Billy the old
Croatian,
who lost it all
on the horses.

Billy who'll never
die,
who'll never die.