Saturday, March 1, 2008

Old Times, New Times

Old Times, New Times.

That was the toast I shared with friends at the bar at the bowling alley next to the newspaper. It had been a long time since I had shared a drink with friends there. Back in the day, we used to go there after our shift and drink and bitch about work. The place reeks of smoke, the drinks are cheap but lousy, and the service sucks - a great place for jaded journalists to swap stories. (The last time I drank there was after Julie's funeral. I think she would have liked that we were drinking there, again.) We laughed about old friends, hurricanes, Iraq, one-armed gunmen, accidentally killing people, stopping the presses, and deadlines. What else would we talk about? When we left we smelled of cheap smoke and beer. The next conversation we had? We talked to our intrepid police reporter who had just returned from reporting on a man who had been shot in the ass three times while breaking into a home.

Old Times, New Times.

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