Short Story: Lunch

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I remember sitting at the pub in Ireland. We were dead tired from the day’s journey. My friend and I were traveling through the country on a two-week expedition—suspending our futures for an adventure. As in most stops, local chatter was custom.

“You could call it ‘self discovery’ I guess,” I responded to the friendly stranger, “but I’m not so sure.” He was an older man, plump and symmetric on his bar stool, inquisitive like most Dingle natives. “Our plan was just to get away from life.”

“Get away from life?” he chortled, clearing the fresh mustache of Guinness off his lip. His accent was thick but warm: “Life is all there is lad, a gift. Every day it renews and don’t forget it.”

“You never needed to just leave, clear your head, reflect?” I begged.

“That’s what lunch is for,” he replied, “besides, I’ll have plenty o’ time to reflect when I’m dead.” He smiled, finished his drink and rose. “Make your days count boy, life is not a patient lass.” He paid for my drink and left.

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2 comments

  1. Great story as usual Kev…I’m especially touched by the one statement “he paid for my drink….” oh wait, I really meant “Make your days count boy, life is not a patient lass.”

    Linger over a precious moment and learn to address “issues” in life that you CAN tackle with vigor and give the rest to God and drive on boy! 🙂

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