Taken from the April 20, 2010 edition of The New York Times.
“One for the road?”
Bar cars may face a last call, but Jimmy never let you leave his pub dry, no matter the day or the time or the fact that you can’t barely pull yourself up by the bootstraps to get home to your wife. Or kids, if you have ‘em.
I don’t.
Coming home from Grand Central, I drain four or five whiskeys on the train before pulling into Roseyville, a small, too-perfect town an hour north of the City. I head straight to Jimmy’s—every day—for a few more rounds with the boys. We talk about President Johnson’s politics, our buddies in Vietnam, the new secretary at our office—anything to pass the time, anything to keep us from going home to Bonnie, or Molly, or June, or Barbara.
So here’s to one for the road. I’ll take it.
the article.
