Corner booths and corner bars. Bathed in the buzz of neon signs. Yelling over bad cover bands. Late nights in rented shoes. Close call. Dumb luck. Finding silver linings in losing seasons. Blown comebacks. Burnt hot dogs. Charcoal scented Sundays. Catching rides and second wind. Letting the fire decide last call. One more game. One more song. One more block. And one more round. You never forget the way some things taste.Tastes like Miller Time.