You said, we should go grab a pint, just like old times, but it wasn’t. I stand at the bar’s perimeter, not sure what to do with my hands, where to look. My oldest’ll be done high school next year, you said, where’s the time go? I remember holding that child as a baby, wiggly with no control, then later, my own. We used to talk music, beers, the conquerable future. The bar crowds were louder, happier, smarter. I sipped the beer and for a brief moment, there we were, that old place, where we were.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
76: Like Old Times
Posted by Christian Bell at 8:00 AM
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