The Irony of On-Stage Poetry Reading in a DC Hipster Joint

I would like very much to ascend a stage, dressed in a plain get up, phone in hand, slouched ever so intoxicatedly and read Dorothy Parker’s Résumé aloud, from my iPhone whilst smoking a cigar of the pequeno variety.

My performance wouldn’t be the poetry reading as much as it would be the lack thereof by the prohibition of smoking in a DC poets bar.

Would anyone be interested in such an experiment?

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