Saturday Night and Drinking, Yet Again…

It is another Saturday night in The Lou. F and I have staked out a booth at The Royal within eyesight of the barstools we had Thursday night. The bar is oddly less than full. Usually, it takes five minutes to make one’s way from the door to the bathroom twenty yards away, but tonight it can be done in under thirty.

A barkeep has come from behind the bar and is teaching a gentleman how to waltz to Patti Labelle and Franz Ferdinand. Two wanna be pols are talking loudly about how they would hanging out with if they were in Washington. They are matched by a couple of women who are each over six-three and spend the entire night walking one end of the bar to the other towering over everyone. At least, the waitresses are drinking here after they get off work. It is always a comfort to be at a place where the workers are willing to turn their wages back to the owner.
The feeling of the night is just dead. No one moves quickly or with any purpose. Even the normal amount of flirting, hardy laughing and public drunkenness is absent. In the end, I realize I don’t need that. All I need is good friends and cheap drinks. Ain’t I simpleton?