The bar owners were dear friends...even stood beside us in front of the judge when we were "officially" married. Translated for me when the Chief of Police threatened me with deportation. Kept secrets. Made us pull our own Fosters and sent us in back to make our own sandwiches when we got hungry.
Tonight...I still have a corner perch. It's the end of a sofa. Girls' night in...and I'm, once again, the last one standing. Or at least awake. I suppose that's what I get for hanging out with creatures who sleep 22 hours a day.
Times haven't changed all that much, really. She can keep a secret. And I'm pretty sure she'd tell me to go make my own damn sandwich as well.