She sits there, at her usual place at the end of the bar. Old man Phil pours her a double whiskey neat and slides it down her way. What a dame. A woman as beautiful as her who can drink with the boys.
I’ve been watching her for months, now. And I doubt she even knows I come here.
Phillies is one of those bars that just opens its arms to all its patrons, giving them what they need, whether that’s a drink, an escape, or an excuse. That’s why I come here. Anything to get away from my life outside these walls. I don’t want to go back to my loveless marriage of convenience. I don’t want to go back to working at the factory for my wife’s father, but I got no choice. (more…)
A Feathered Letter 