What’s left of a Lucky Lager sign on a closed down bar in Alviso, California. Beautiful, warm spring day; a Lucky Lager would have tasted great right about then.
I remember when I was just a wee lad, maybe 6 years old. My uncles would come home from work and they and my grandfather would go out on the front porch to smoke and drink Lucky Lager. Once in a great while, my grampa would tell me to get my cup, and he would pour a little bit of beer in the cup for me. Made me feel like one of the guys.