Mars is home, earth is space.

I just don’t feel right in there. I have no problem going to bars, even though I don’t drink. In fact, I think I’ll be going to more bars in the future. But not that one. I saw too much in there. I felt too much in there. I lost too much in there. I have regrets. I hate regrets. I have pictures. Lots of pictures. They say many words. Seen the bar on fire. Both sides of the shutters. Dancing. A deaf mute eating birthday cake. Future aids victims. Future heartbreaks. Lovers. Cheaters. Scammers. Fighters. Crooks. A fucking death metal band! Poker nights. Gibbs ripping it up. Amanda blowing out the windows with that voice. That voice. Regrets. Sitting still and waiting for the rats to come. Standing outside and watching buildings fall around us. The 5am bus home full of drooling outpatients and scout troop field trips.
Walk in the door, someone shouts out your name, your favorite beer is on the bar before you even sit down, free of charge. All that’s left now is Joel and Gary in the same spots they were in seven years ago. Been there. Got the shirt. Don’t wear it any more.