Christmas in Bend

So it's 11 o'clock at night, and I'm in the men's room at the D&D, the day before Christmas Eve. A gentleman with a big, gray moustache sidles up to the urinal next to me, and starts chatting. This is something that I have noticed about Oregonians, or something that I used to take for granted - they're always willing to tell you about themselves, on the airplane, at the bookstore, in line at Target, in the men's room at the bar.

"I've been drinkin' at the D&D for forty years," he sighed, "And now I'm here drinkin' with my son."

"Hm." I said.

"Alot's changed in this town, over those forty years. But not this place. Been the same since as long as I can remember."

It was going to be one of those conversations. Drunk. Nostalgic. Flashing our Old Bend credentials. Fine.

"Yeah, I know," I said, "I was born in Bend, and this bar has been here for as long as I can remember."

"You were born here?"

"Yeah, my mom used to own Knickers, just around the corner from here."

"Knickers? I loved Knickers! I used to take my kids there all the time! They would sit and play with those train sets for hours!"

He smiled, and flushed the urinal. Then while he was washing his hands, he said, really to himself, "And now I'm here at the D&D, drinking with one of them." I like to think that he left the bathroom in a better mood than how he entered it.