The beginning, the end, part 1

We used to wonder if there was ever going to be time when we wouldn't be friends.

Every Thursday night we would meet at the dirtiest and friendliest pub, conveniently located in the middle of nowhere. Not to say that we wouldn't see each other on the week-end at a club, or during the week for an impromptu run to the mall. It was just that every Thursday, we all would meet at this little, cosy, hole in the wall, infallibly.

Others would join us, and were well received, but decidedly, in our hearts, we knew that they were outsiders. There were six of us. Of course in this picture there are five, one was a little busy, but we always understood, didn't we?

We were known and called ourselves by several names over the years. Not to be inclusive or exclusive, but simply because it was easier. Once when one girl was questioned by her mother where she went every week, she simply replied, 'to church'. That one stuck, and to some degree, still exists. It was easier to ask another if they were attending this week, then it was to ask them if there were attending -insert- place, time, and date.

I distinctly recall discussing over our beers and whiskeys about this group of older women on 'Oprah' who had been meeting weekly for over 30 years. For no purpose, just because they were friends. We were sure that would be us. Come back in 30 years. You'll see.

It started well over a decade ago. 'Our place' was now open for evening cocktails. There were admirers, one night stands, fabulously intoxicated bartenders, crazies, co-workers, old elementary and highschool friends, drunks, lost travelers, and flat ass whores. We weeded through the mess of them and found ourselves.

Our table was always saved, but open to anyone. Within a year, we knew we had become something special. Something beyond the revolving doors of friendships. So we thought.