I'm not quite sure where I am. I know the bar and the street for that matter, but it feels different. I haven't seen Adam in almost four years. As I look across the table at him I notice he looks about the same. Sure he's put on about 20 pounds, but he drags his cigs the same way, and drinks the same brand of beer, Molson. Adam hasn't really change. He's just in law school now.







I get distracted by the sport televisions in the background. The Islanders are playing the Avalance. There are about 20 televisions in this garage sized bar. The same game is on all of them. Adam elects to play the jukebox. I put in Girl Talk, Patsy Cline and Black Kids.

I hear my dad coming down the stairs as I open the backdoor to my childhood home. My father walks to me. He's limping. "My cock hurts," he says. Unfortunately, it's not from an everlasting evening of sexual prowess. I'm struck with sadness by his comment. I tell him I love him and grab him close. It's good to be home.