Last call was around three,

We’d leave work around three thirty,

The bartenders & other staff,

Would pile into my little Honda Civic wagon,

Sometimes as many as ten, contributing to gas & tolls,

Back into the city to our three story brownstone,

To party the rest of the night away.

Most of the party would start in a bedroom,

All of us lying on the beds, wishing to get laid,

Smoking pot laced with hash, it hit me once,

I knew not what happened to the rest of the night,

But awoke in the morning in time to watch the sun rise,

The city skyscrapers shone in the sun & reflected,

Sleeping I was apparently on the 3^rd floor roof,

Too high to go find a bed or open floor space,

Much nicer to enjoy the scenery of sky & space.

The next day/night we were off work,

We drove to the beach in Atlantic City,

Then by the end of that day we partied in AC,

Wow, we burned ourselves all out,

Dancing in a club bar, one called the Saratoga,

We brought our club jackets getting in for free,

Our drinks were paid for by the club,

What memories of those nights & days I recall,

We all sure did have a helluva ball,

I miss those guys & girls; they were then my family,

Always wanted to open up of my own a small pub.

© -ed- 7/7/20