Somewhere Else

You couldn’t get a seat at the bar. It was stuffed full of folks watching the big screens, the big game, all wishing they were there.

Around the bar, the gorgeous and the timid gathered at tables and chatted up acquaintances on phones, wishing they were together, while waiters dealt drinks and thought idly of the time they got to get away. It was a mob, shoulder to shoulder, full of noise and stink and life, and not a one was present.

Except for the old man eating an ice cream cone by the door.

He was present as hell.

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