Knowing the Time

When the last local point of interest has been marveled over, and the folder of “Things to See and Do” is shut in a drawer, and Mom and Dad are finally settled for good with their own kind, they start to always know what time it is, without looking almost, like children out of school who play school to shorten summer; and tired of always knowing almost without looking, they retire to local bars, crowding in the cocktail hours to drink at special rates the Senior Citizens’ Special, the newcomers chatting of children and grandchildren, regulars quiet mostly, mostly watching themselves in the mirror watching behind the bottles behind the bar, until they drink up where no one ever knows the time.

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