"Starting to believe you've lost that lovin' feeling," a familiar voice quipped from behind you before sidling in the seat closest.

Goose, your longtime friend and co-pilot attached by the hip, was a welcome face. He made use of it when he flashed a goofy smile and offered you a bottle of beer, having retrieved it from the bartender nearby.

"All good?" he asked over the chatter of the crowded bar, leaning over to smooth out the lapel of your bomber jacket.