we spend all the time doing our regular routine and ignoring the world around, commuting from home to work to the bed to work to home.
i’d like to think i’m doing it as right as i can, enjoying the lake and the coots and the weather and my dogs. i even sometimes say by to the cats before i leave the house.
i know that people think bar-folk are weird. why would you spend evenings away from home at a pub drinking with strangers? well, it’s cuz they’re not strangers. picture sunday church only every happy hour instead of every sunday. and bonus, you get to talk to each other instead of just sitting and listening to a story; you get to hear millions of stories. some not so interesting, others are pretty amazingsauce.
it becomes a little family. that guy who shows up at 6:15 every evening on his way home, the other one who doesn’t come in on tuesdays because that’s his late shift at the cab company. the couple that come in every sunday for brunch, and the fella who will only take a margarita made by matt.
it’s the last one that’s got the spotlight today; our friend ned passed away this weekend. the tavern this evening is more somber than usual. there is a couple sitting at the bar with a bunch of us regulars and i don’t think they realize they’re in the middle of an impromptu wake.
it’s too bad that someone has to leave our family to make us reflect on the reality of the rest of our friends.