At the corner of the bar he sits, head down, nursing his beer.
The scholarship had come, but while he’d been on the starting lineup that first year the scouts had paid him no mind.
In hindsight, he should’ve paid more attention during the actual classes.
Still, the mill wasn’t bad. His old man had worked there 40 years and seemed happy enough.
He finishes his drink, waves for another and, when the bartender arrives, clears his throat.
“Did I ever tell you about the time…”
“Yeah, I remember.”
He swallows, beer and sadness, and returns to his thoughts.