The homecoming party

“So why haven’t I seen you around here before?” he asks me. I tell him I’ve been long gone from the haunts I used to call home, am only back for a bit; couldn’t stay away forever.

This time of year we spill out of bigger cities, new jobs, trips east and west, wherever. We all end up back around old bar tables, sleeping at parent’s houses or on friend’s couches, gossiping about the locals with the best of them.

We avoid the bars that have new names: Whiskey Dix, HiFi, Pink Taco. Instead we make our way to the King’s Head, end up back at Bar I, wonder what happened to the Collective. We spread ourselves thin, eating too many separate lunches with friends who have long since ceased talking, hear each side of the same story over and over again.

The streets haven’t changed: they still lead us back and forth from one reunion to the next. We pull up to the red light and I open the door to take a leak. I let the road run yellow as the light turns green, hop back in, wave at the cops and drive away.

I make it home liquored up on dark beer, stomach full of his cake, sigh to myself, “Welcome home, Winnipeg.”