a booming shipping and trade area of the city. Then, there had always been plenty ofmen waiting for the door to open. They would stay until it was time to go home to eat,or to sleep for work early the next day. Others would take their place– just getting off alate shift, or coming in after their dinner for a few drinks before calling it a night.When his father took over, Jake would stop by after school. In those days, aman's son could sit in his bar and no one thought ill of it. It was a time when the onlybad thing that might happen to a young boy in a bar would be to hear an off-color jokeor two. Jake would sit on his father's bar stool at the end of the bar. His father thoughthe was doing his homework. Instead he watched the crowd of men, taking it all in.Most knew him and spoke to him as if he was one of them. They would ask himabout school, or if he had a girlfriend yet. Occasionally, his father would shoo them offtelling them to let him get back to his books. At 6 PM, he would go home, retrieve hisfather's dinner and bring it back to him at the pub. He was supposed to return straighthome without dawdling, but he could linger if he wished, losing himself among thecrowd– until his father caught him and sent him on his way.The crowd was boisterous and good-natured, never belligerent. They were bigand strong, happy and healthy– working class men, mostly. He never tired of watchingthem. They sat together in the booths, or stood in small, close groups– talking,
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