Tonight glitter overpowers dust on the black paint floor of this dingy bar.

It’s empty now, too early for the near year’s grind to set in, too late to have any true revelers left.

Stooping down, trenchcoat detective on the case. Alcohol spilled splotches over glass tops, dancing toes dragged clues.

There’s a story here, but not just of what happened last night as the morning crept closer.

In this sweeping expanse of dusty glitter, patterns now cast by shadows, we’ll see our future as in tea leaves and twisted autumn sprinkles. If anyone bothers to look. It’ll be swept away to its fate soon enough, perhaps. But if you watch careful, the glitter sees the future.

If anyone bothers to look. Glitter is the future.

Glitter never dies.