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Authors: Chadwick Wall
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screamed, raising his hands in the air. This day there seemed to be jubilation but no wisdom from Case. He had apparently taken a break from urging his friends to "carpe diem" or offering them gems of Native American and Eastern religion and philosophy.
"Congrats, my man," Duff said, smiling approvingly. "But who's gonna accompany me to Sunday Mass? And we're losing our trivia partner at the Twenty-first Amendment on Tuesday nights."
"Hat's off to you, Scoresby," Patrick chimed in. "But… first you settle down with a girl who hates me, thereby destroying our partnership as wingmen. And in the city with perhaps the most single professional women with a combination of beauty and brains. Then you announce you're taking a job with a ninety-minute drive from here. Jim, this is a farewell party. This is a funeral!" He slammed down his glass of water and huffed with mock anger. "I'm gonna take the day off now and get wasted in sorrow."
"A true New Orleanian!" Jim said. "Now y'all… this is a godsend. I knew all about the old man's operation. But I never dreamed Walter would offer me a spot in it. And to head the thing!"
"Move down there, but you better come and visit often," Duff said. "And I'll text you during trivia. Some of the history, politics, literature questions."
"So are they covering your move down there, Jim?" Bryce said.
"Yeah, when are ya leavin' us?" Case half-yelled.
A man sitting in the booth behind Case turned around for a moment.
"My lease ends in three months. Ol' Man Walt is bustin' me out of it, offered to pay the deposit on a place on the Cape. Or I could set up in the condo that's over the boat warehouse, down in Osterville. I'm opting for the latter. That's where McTierney—the pompous ass running the shop—was living before the old man fired him. The stuffed shirt ingrate didn't realize how good he had it. Lived rent-free. Had a great job with tons of perks and did many things that would have made any boss can him."
"Now you won't have Beantown rents to weigh you down," Duff said. "You can spend that precious money on other things. Like gas to come up to Tuesday night trivia."
"It'll take a chunk out of your monthly barhopping expenses," Case said.
"Well, it wasn't the worst announcement," Patrick said. "You could have told us you were engaged to Maureen, had finally developed cirrhosis, or had entered the priesthood."
"Brauner! Shut it!" Duff said.
"Or that you had decided to return to the bayou, which I suspect you one day will do." Bryce winked.
"Now let's stop the shenanigans and order lobsters!" Jim said. "They have two for thirteen, or one for seven. I love their lobster special. Even though the meat's often crumbly, being previously frozen. Lacks the full briny taste. But they're decent, and cheap nonetheless."
Patrick flagged down the waitress. All chose lobsters except Duff, who ordered his usual fish and chips.
"Y'all know nearly every day here in New England," Jim said, "I've enjoyed lobsters, chowder, steamer clams, quahog clams, littleneck clams, cherrystone clams, mahogany clams, or a combination of these."
Even from his first days at Liam's home in Exeter, the novelty and excellence of New England seafood had never waned for Jim, and his friends all ribbed him for his undying obsession.
"How can we forget the record you set? Captured on video, too," Patrick said. "You men recall the ten pound lobster Jim devoured in my apartment?"
"Ah, y'all, I'll tell you what I shall miss," Jim said. "Grabbing Whisky's five-thirty weekday pints and wings with Bryce. Meeting up with Case in the ratty East Boston dives."
Jim turned to Duff. "I'll miss Tuesday trivia nights near the capitol at the Twenty-First Amendment with Duff and his buddies. Eating at Durgin Park." Strangely, Jim loved its tradition: the bartenders and waitstaff openly insulting their patrons, and keeping the performance going, never admitting it was all in jest.
"And what else?" Patrick said.
"First Fridays at the
"Congrats, my man," Duff said, smiling approvingly. "But who's gonna accompany me to Sunday Mass? And we're losing our trivia partner at the Twenty-first Amendment on Tuesday nights."
"Hat's off to you, Scoresby," Patrick chimed in. "But… first you settle down with a girl who hates me, thereby destroying our partnership as wingmen. And in the city with perhaps the most single professional women with a combination of beauty and brains. Then you announce you're taking a job with a ninety-minute drive from here. Jim, this is a farewell party. This is a funeral!" He slammed down his glass of water and huffed with mock anger. "I'm gonna take the day off now and get wasted in sorrow."
"A true New Orleanian!" Jim said. "Now y'all… this is a godsend. I knew all about the old man's operation. But I never dreamed Walter would offer me a spot in it. And to head the thing!"
"Move down there, but you better come and visit often," Duff said. "And I'll text you during trivia. Some of the history, politics, literature questions."
"So are they covering your move down there, Jim?" Bryce said.
"Yeah, when are ya leavin' us?" Case half-yelled.
A man sitting in the booth behind Case turned around for a moment.
"My lease ends in three months. Ol' Man Walt is bustin' me out of it, offered to pay the deposit on a place on the Cape. Or I could set up in the condo that's over the boat warehouse, down in Osterville. I'm opting for the latter. That's where McTierney—the pompous ass running the shop—was living before the old man fired him. The stuffed shirt ingrate didn't realize how good he had it. Lived rent-free. Had a great job with tons of perks and did many things that would have made any boss can him."
"Now you won't have Beantown rents to weigh you down," Duff said. "You can spend that precious money on other things. Like gas to come up to Tuesday night trivia."
"It'll take a chunk out of your monthly barhopping expenses," Case said.
"Well, it wasn't the worst announcement," Patrick said. "You could have told us you were engaged to Maureen, had finally developed cirrhosis, or had entered the priesthood."
"Brauner! Shut it!" Duff said.
"Or that you had decided to return to the bayou, which I suspect you one day will do." Bryce winked.
"Now let's stop the shenanigans and order lobsters!" Jim said. "They have two for thirteen, or one for seven. I love their lobster special. Even though the meat's often crumbly, being previously frozen. Lacks the full briny taste. But they're decent, and cheap nonetheless."
Patrick flagged down the waitress. All chose lobsters except Duff, who ordered his usual fish and chips.
"Y'all know nearly every day here in New England," Jim said, "I've enjoyed lobsters, chowder, steamer clams, quahog clams, littleneck clams, cherrystone clams, mahogany clams, or a combination of these."
Even from his first days at Liam's home in Exeter, the novelty and excellence of New England seafood had never waned for Jim, and his friends all ribbed him for his undying obsession.
"How can we forget the record you set? Captured on video, too," Patrick said. "You men recall the ten pound lobster Jim devoured in my apartment?"
"Ah, y'all, I'll tell you what I shall miss," Jim said. "Grabbing Whisky's five-thirty weekday pints and wings with Bryce. Meeting up with Case in the ratty East Boston dives."
Jim turned to Duff. "I'll miss Tuesday trivia nights near the capitol at the Twenty-First Amendment with Duff and his buddies. Eating at Durgin Park." Strangely, Jim loved its tradition: the bartenders and waitstaff openly insulting their patrons, and keeping the performance going, never admitting it was all in jest.
"And what else?" Patrick said.
"First Fridays at the
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