Drinkin Beer. Talkin God. Amen. (feat. Florida Georgia Line) Guide

They hadn't seen each other since Miller moved to the city for that tech job, but sitting here, the years seemed to peel away like a cheap bottle label.

"So," Miller started, tracing a ring of condensation on the table. "You still doing the Sunday morning thing?" Drinkin Beer. Talkin God. Amen. (feat. Florida Georgia Line)

The neon sign of "The Rusty Anchor" buzzed like a trapped hornet, casting a low amber glow over the cracked vinyl booth where Chase and Miller sat. Between them stood two sweating longnecks and a bowl of pretzels that had seen better days. They hadn't seen each other since Miller moved