I will never forget our last meet.
He stood in the middle of this chaotic Irish bar, our favorite watering hole, in those expensive jeans I told him not to buy, like a Roman God among a soaked filled room of desperation spilling his proverbial guts to his friends that were just as inebriated, explaining how he met the love of his life while not spilling a drop of beer swaying in the late hours of the night.
His generous bravado caused a look or two which suggest we were all more drunk than we thought.
The wooden bars and floors smelled of everyone's favorite drink.
Coats lying on bar stools dripping with wet thanks to the winter we received early.
Dim lights. Loud music. Scattered memorabilia eclectically strewed on the walls.
And not a dry eye in the house of The Dublin Down.
This was life.