The bar’s empty but they’re open. I manage to get a beer and look around at the exotic décor. It’s a mix of new age Asian and early dive. I learn they have a city wide special that entails a PBR pounder and a shot of Maker’s Mark. They also do a variation that includes a can of Tecaté with a shot of tequilla.
It's that point when you have to make a decision and you don’t want a reputation for always erring on the side of caution. This is the point where the evening many get hazy. Will I even make it home alive.
A pounder of beer
chasing down high grade whiskey
the sun is fading fast
I talk with the bartender who reveals she is a lovely mix of Latina and Asian. She’s wearing a Kurt Cobain T-shirt. I ask her if she was even alive when Cobain played. She was 5 years old when Cobain died. Fair enough, Jim Morrison died 2 days before my 5 birthday. We talk about music and the overworked air conditioner. An old man crushing hard ends up tossing down 3 citywides before realizing the need to catch a train back home
Lovely Melita
giggling and pouring a shot
it’s love at first shot
Ah,
The magic of bartenders,
serenading us through alcohol.
A beautiful flavor,
savored upon the buds of our despair.
"We are, Each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another." -Luciano De Crescenzo
bartenders are often my best
bartenders are often my best friends and this one was beautiful to boot.