Churches, bars and funerals

I grew up in bars and churches, and I love them both. 

Not the big ones. Not the trendy ones. Not the corporate, franchised, same-in-every-town kind. Not the kind with preachers in $500 sneakers or the kind with cover charges. Not the ones with Abercrombie models in the pulpit or pulling taps on overpriced fancy drinks with names that sound like they came from an IKEA. 

Nope. 

I love the local, shoe-string, all-hands-on-deck kind. Where they know your name, who your people are and who to call for you when things get dicey. Where they know who you are, who you can be and make no bones about reminding you of it.