The old tavern

Cobblestone Street
Raining and cold
Soft light and laughter pour out of a nearby window
A small tavern
Everyone’s welcome
As you enter the smell of mint and pipe-smoke hit your nostrils
And everyone says hi
Even though you’re a stranger.
A quiet, young man tunes his guitar in the corner
But it sounds more rhythmic than any song you’ve ever heard
A boy plays a harmonica
A song his father taught him
The barkeep’s daughter is a waitress
She hands me a sandwich with a soft smile
“ You look hungry. The first one’s free, but we don’t count.”
It seems they only charged the men in uniform
And they were too drunk to notice.
An hour goes by
The man is still tuning the guitar
And the boy has fallen asleep
Curled up in his chair
The night is ending
I think I’ll stay here tonight
The barkeep has a spare room
Right after I finish my sandwich
And leave the waitress a tip.