Blue Man Group

Corporate drone-clones, packed blue shirt to blue shirt, dark pants to dark pants, in the darkened West Village bar, glasses with third drinks grasped in right hands, left hands free of wedding bands, all elbows bent at the same precise angle, cheering on their blue-clad brothers who shout karaoke under the glare of a white light in the desperate hopes of bagging one of the low-rise jeans-clad sorority sisters whose hip-flesh spills over as readily as the martinis do out of their tilted glasses. I want to take the scissors that created these paper dolls and cut them into snowflakes.
Inspired by Wednesday night, spent supping and sipping (club soda! with lime!) with Kyria.