I’d watch him drink all evenin’ long at Henry’s Tavern over by Pearl Street…he’d buy me shots of rye…hated to drink alone…hated to drink alone…

and we’d sit in that dark bar ’til the moon came out and made Main Street glow…talkin’ ’bout dreams of goin’ to Venice…New York City…checkin’ out museums in Paris…the little man dreamed big…was always dreamin’ big…

everyone in that bar knew him…he was a local hero…a real character…they called him Little Dave ’cause of his height…always wore hats to cover his baldness…with piercing eyes and always smilin’…Little Dave smiled more than anyone I ever knew…tossin’ ’em back and talkin’ of H.G. Wells…Ali…The Rolling Stones…and always some documentary he’d seen on PBS…

the little man knew peace…a real sitting Buddha…knew history…art…literature…and women…he’d raise his glass to women…always in search of beauty…and to him…it was all beauty…