Friday

The Last Jamboree (196 Words)


For fifty years they had met up, as regular as clockwork. The last Fridays in May and November. Soon  it had become a ritual, something to look forward to, an excuse to catch up, go out get drunk and have a laugh.

The venues had changed over the years, fights were had, relationships started, new people came and went but the core few who had been there since day one, they hung onto the tradition for as long as possible.
 
In the last few years the jamboree has changed, what was once a celebration of ale, music and friendship has become an act of remembrance as old age and mortality slowly caught up with us all.
Alan's funeral wasn't the first he had been to but it'll be the last one for his drinking buddies. They're all gone now, he's the last man standing.

He keeps his end of the bargain, come the end of November he goes out as if he is still twenty-one
Sitting alone in the corner with his pint, a solitary tears rolls from his one good eye.
He raises his glass, mumbles a toast to his comrades, gone but never forgotten.

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