I take a sip of my drink.

It doesn’t taste as good as I remember.

But I still drink it.

Maybe it’ll taste better the next time around.

But it doesn’t.

It never does.

My names Warren, I’ve been going to the same pub for years, hell, probably decades at this point. every Sunday. When my mothers in church I’m at a row of seats that used to be full. Now I’m the only one filling them. My Mum likes church. Even though, like me, her old friends aren’t with her. Say what you will about religion, I myself have found that as I grow older that the thought of some loving creature that has our best interest at heart, that helps keep up sane, that embracing our lost loved ones etc. it’s a nice thought. As I age. The proof really is in the pudding with how graciously she has handled sending off yet another friend last Thursday.

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I knew her friend. Not by name, but by face. She was nice. She knew my name too. It’s Warren by the way. Oh wait, nah I already told you that didn’t I? Shit, maybe this drink is doing a bit better than I thought.

Anyway, I used to have a lot of friends. This town, my hometown, used to be filled with ‘em. We were a real fun bunch. Couldn’t go for a loaf of bread without running into some old friend. Now it seems if I did run into someone that I knew it wouldn’t hardly be a good thing. Truth be told I wouldn’t know whether to drop my things and give a hug, or block a punch. Truth be told I don’t know what to expect anymore. Life continues to surprise me.

As far as my mates go there were four of us. Now there’s just me. There was Chris, the first of us to get a job. Travis, the first of us to have a kid. Michael, the first of us to crack a major jackpot. And me,…the last to die.

We got up to a whole lot of nothing. Makes me sad, but I know we wouldn’t have done it any different had we been given another shot.

First to go was Michael, he couldn’t hack it. Next was Christ, he died drunk driving. For a while it was just Travis and I, but then Travis got hit with cancer a couple years back. Can’t remember what kind.

I admire my mum for how well she handles it all. The constant death. She must really believe in God. She has to. She knows gods forgiven her. I don’t think god would forgive me. I know my kids don’t. I’m alright most days. But on Sundays I always get a bit funny. Bit average. Not the best. Just miffed. And I drink, I drink, I drink. I have to.