Last Call – Westley Heine

April 1, 2026

Last call you deadbeats & barflies. Last call you drifters & undercover crows. Last call you carnies & bums branded in tats of time. Last call you perverts & idealistic protesters singing America’s unconscious. Last call you dandy fops, addicts, the marginalized & the over medicated. Last call you ex-cons & petty thieves. Last call you pop-culture zombies & pseudointellectuals eating brains. Last call the one who got away & those who rather be alone. Last call couples mutating into each other. Last call vets, victims, heroes, & fem fatales. Last call ghosts, hosts, hysterics, clerics, unwashed, & washed up. Last call moths, goths, gutter punks, glitter queens, vamps, scamps, tramps, & lot lizards. Last call bohos, hobos, hobnobs, & fuck-knobs. Last call fade away in decayed celluloid, in burned books, magnetized tape, in redacted state secrets, obsolete discs, & music boxes locked in the skull. Last call you should call a ride, call your mother, call the cops, make a booty call, call your ex, don’t drink & dial you open wound. Last call this is your home but you can’t stay here. Last call to sweep to mop to count the cash register the bartender hasn’t seen the sun since October. Last call to the ghosts of cabbies, all the fading trades, the door-to-door salesman, the newsboy, the snake oil salesmen, the gun fighter, the fur trapper, the explorer. Last call the Old Style sign has gone out. Last call they will demolish this place tomorrow leaving no trace only our blurred memories. Last call to the hills, call to our ancestors, call to the birds, call to get bailed out, calling collect to the angels, screaming in the dark, moaning in the void. Last call toast our short lives. Last call a wave of salutations over the horizon before the expanding universe yawns the galaxies away in entropy. Last call no answer. Last call one more round. Last call. It’s on me.