Then my mind's-eye gets to sinkin' into the ocean

we keep on doing this again and again
the same old things expecting something different

She’s pretty and playful in a way that screams the edge of a sharp blade. The kind that he understands a majority of the customers and clients might be a bit wary of – worried she might bite off more than they can handle. Himself, though, he’s seen and done quite a few things in bed, as reversible and switchable as someone in his position was likely to be.

She sips from the whiskey and she tells him that it was too early to tell, and his gaze follows her to watch as she gets people’s hopes up only for them to fall the second she moves on. Snorting, he catches her gaze again and straightens up a smidge, close to his full height but still leaning against the counter toward her enough that their conversation was still friendly and close without prying ears. “That so?” He asks, snagging a glass for himself and pouring a knuckles worth of the whiskey into it before lifting it to his lips – his fingers partially shifting toward the blackened tips of claws. “Rough? In charge?” She gives off the vibe, if he’d had to guess. Though it wasn’t so much his job to try and guess what his clients wanted. It was just his job to indulge them in whatever they wanted.

but by now we know it's never gonna change
i'm not trying to complain, i'm just saying it's a waste