Poppy’s had a twin lobster special on Saturday and you would’ve thought they were giving lobsters away. I took the only seat at the bar. It was between the wall and three old guys.
They were finishing up their lobsters when I sat down. The oldest one, or the one who looked the oldest anyway, the one in the windbreaker, said, “I need to get fishing boots for my son. It’s his birthday next week.”
“Those will cost you a hundred,” his friend in the yellow sweater said.
“Kid is killing me,” said windbreaker.
Must be tough, I thought, still shelling out money for your son at that age. These guys were close to eighty.
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