The night time air was cool and crisp
leaves whispering nature's rustling lisp,
as we huddle with friends, drinking beers inside.
Chuck Sander's bar is where we meet
several times, late night, each week.
To extol our shitty days with martyr'd pride.
Yet at times, or so it seems
the pub protects our false perceptions, dreams.
A refuge to escape the world and hide
The booming chatter starts, continues.
Over drinks and nachos, from memorized menus,
as the TV screen flickers the sports games up high.