Where Everybody Knows Your Name

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It’s no secret that I have a hard time relating to other people. It’s been that way all my life and I had to accept it a long time ago. For the last 3 Days, I’ve earnestly tried to think of all the places I’ve ever been where I didn’t feel like an outsider. Tonight, when the lock the doors, I will lose that place. It will reopen in a few weeks and I will certainly be back. But I know things will be different. Right now, I am thankful for the Gold Rush. I am grateful for all the people I have gotten to talk to late into the night about Rolling Stones albums and Don DeLillo books and labor parties and college basketball. It’s the place I went before my first Springsteen show. It’s the place I went after my first Roky Ericson show. I’ve been heartbroken by Preds playoff games there. I’ve eaten countless grilled cheeses with Buster’s tomato bisque. I’ve made friends and enemies and even fallen in love. I will keep this short and sweet for once. But I will always be indebted to that pub.

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Where Everybody Knows Your Name