About Buddies, and the best of bad times

It was that kind of bar. You know the type. Tucked into the neighbourhood, with the rest. The plaid shirts go home with the plaid shirts, v-necks with v-necks. Inside, it’s a big, blurry mess. Too much lipstick, too high of heels, airbrushed, plucked and tanned. That was just the men.

A cheer broke out before each song, and often after. Not once was this ironic. There was sweat dripping, hips bumping, kissing, and the like. One popular remixed dance anthem sing-along, then the next.

Outside was a lineup of new winter coats. We grabbed our own and went to shoot BB guns at living room targets.

He hit a bullseye.