Storied By Josh

Bernie’s Bungalow is for sale. The owner, I suppose, is moving on. The family has faced their fair share of challenges.
When I was a young man, and mine and Anna’s friend group was an ocean wide and a bathtub thick, it was our party central.

Many a weekend we spent drinking, smoking hookah, acting fools. The girls would be in their best outfits, shivering in sub freezing temperatures under the heated lamps. We were obscene, coarse and very happy. Sometimes so happy they’d send us home early.

Bernie gave us a home spot. Black, white, gay, straight, it didn’t matter. As the years progressed and our friends moved away, it evolved. I’m sure its still a nightlife hub. Though the tragic passing of Bernie and the arrival of Covid kneecapped it. I wouldn’t know for certain, I’m in bed before 10 mostly.

His son runs it now. Every time I go I look for him. We partied there a few times with him when his dad was around. Never quite friends, just two guys who knew each other across the room. Seeing his son when I go is a highlight.

He comes out from the kitchen or the back and makes his rounds. He greets each and every guest he can make time for. Bernie used to do that.

After the 4th of July parade, we like to pop in, have a few mid afternoon drinks and lunch, sit in the sun and burn. A couple of times, years ago they weren’t open yet. But Bernie fired up the grill, opened his kitchen and served us personally. Our waiter, doorman and cook simultaneously. I’ll never forget that.

I went to Bernie’s with Anna last night for dinner and to play dominoes. Its a favourite thing. “Soup” came out, all decked out in his kitchen garb. He again greeted his clientele. I caught his eye and waved. He smiled and waved back, busy as he is, i don’t think he had time to chat. He was making us dinner after all.

I think his father would be proud.