Last Best

The old pals were well into their second draft and bowl of pretzels, Mom's was an odd pub at 12pm. Maybe true for all taverns that open so early, an opposite vibe that's more cathedral than jovial, quiet and reflective recalling the evening's frolics, what's known, what's said to have happened.

Stale tobacco and bleached air, the empty cavern is cool, dark, and protected from the rush of bright traffic outside, far away. 

"We had the last best childhood out here, you know? Play outside till after dark, endless summer, nickel ice cream cones, no worry. Then it went to crap." 

His buddy said nothing in reply, only nodding slowly, then taking a long draw from the chilled mug. Worlds long gone, never to return.