One Man's Fridays

This stool is so comfortable at the end of the bar Never needing to look up, the barkeep knows my request With the bills sprayed out before me, the drinks keep coming Quietly, I would sit at Jake’s bar each Friday evening Minding my own business, until this killer of a woman Came through the door and took the stool next to me Her name was Adelaide, an old-fashioned name And so appropriate, as she drank her old-fashioneds She was stunning, from head to toe, adorned in the best One would think she was the richest in the world One would be wrong. She got to talking one evening with me and I could see She wasn’t at all what she appeared to be or tried to portray She had a need to be there at this bar, as I Her life was rough, abusive father, mother died young. She lived with and aunt who tried her best, But it came a little too late in life. She had her share of abusive relationships and needed to forget them, the past. My name? Well it is of no importance as I am just a prop within the story She said I had a great ear and seeing me each week brought joy I cannot lie, I started to enjoy our time together each week Each Thursday evening I would get my attire ready for the next day Thinking, possibly, for one moment, it would please her Each Friday, like clockwork, she arrived, she sat, we talked We, for a brief moment in the span of a lifetime, shared something Fridays come each week and months have passed since her last visit I read in the paper some time ago about an untimely accitdent Between a New York City taxi and a pedestrian Her name was mentioned once Listed as not having any next of kin, sad It didn’t even make the front page, just a blurb on a latter page She was definitely more than that, to me anyway This stool is so comfortable at the end of the bar Never needing to look up, the barkeep knows my request With the bills sprayed out before me, the drinks keep coming