I don't do funerals. I don't like mourning and crying and reciting lives in ticker tape in front of crowds. And so I didn't go. To the Last Night. The buy-one-get-three unexpected lemondrops-for free night. The night they stood the barstools upside down on the counter and threw them in the dumpster the next day. The night they said good~bye.
I couldn't. I had a cold, an old broken foot that came back to haunt me, a lover that deja-vued me, a crick in my neck, nothing to wear, no money to tip the bartender excessively. I had an excuse.
It was a lousy excuse, but I wore it well.
As Big Dad-O would say, "thats my story, and I'm sticking to it".....
Rest in peace little corner bar...
