Five Hundred and Forty
So tonite, around eleven p.m., after dropping off the van near Dan's house so that he can start working at seven thirty a.m. (!)(keep in mind, he sets his own hours - and chooses this fate!), I jumped on the G train thinking about going straight home, and, nearing a decision point, flipped a coin. Coin says: go to bar(s).
So, I got off the train at the Metropolitan stop, and went to the Subway Bar. I knew the bartender, a very friendly, very tall, and very beautiful girl from Boise named Mandi, plus I like that dingy old place. It was a favorite of mine and Jimbo's, for the record. Well, I had my shot and beer, but it was a Wednesday, and Wednesday is Service Industry Night at the Levee.
Sure, I was hoping some friends of mine would stop by the Subway, or agree to meet me at the Levee. Sure, there was no sign of this happening. Sure.
So, I bid farewell to Mandi (and Nelson the Empanada Man, who brought me a wonderful chicken empenada), and strode on up to the Levee, where I knew the bartenders, a couple of very friendly publicans named Russell and Angela. I've been a regular on Wednesdays at the Levee since early on in my Brooklyn days.
You see, on Service Industry Night (Wednesday), you get one dollar off anything at the Levee, if you're in the Service Industry. And I am. So, I can't turn down $2 pints of Yuengling. Plus, they're ubergenerous with buybacks.
Anyway, I drank a couple, and ate a Frito Pie, and tried to watch basketball, but the game was too boring (Denver blew New Orleans away). There were three guys in their early 20's hanging out near me, and one complimented me on my "chops." He meant sideburns. I thanked him. They were nice enough dudes. From their conversation I overheard, I could tell that they were rookies on the town. It was heartwarming, in a way. Three buddies, hitting the bar, forging and foraging ahead, having a great time.
I was hoping some friends of mine would stop by the Levee, or try and get in touch with me somewhere. But no dice.
I said bye-bye to Angela and Russell, and began my walk home, down Bedford Av at 1 a.m.. At this point, I was in a very ruminary mood, and was wondering if life had left me behind. After all, nobody was hanging out in my neighborhood. Maybe none of my friends were, anywhere. Huh.
So, as I'm walking down Bedford, first I hear "NAAATOOO!!!" shouted at the top of someone's lungs... it was my friend Meredith, from the old Brooklyn days of yore, riding off somewhere and just back in town from a cruise. I shouted "HELLLLOOOO" back at her. Vaguely we made plans to make sure we'd see each other soon... she sped off ahead.
Then, I looked in the window of the Charleston, because I know the bartenders there, and Katie - a good pal and constant Lulu's bartender - was working. She missed the Goodnight Loving, who she loves, BOTH NIGHTS they played in Brooklyn just now. I had to go in, and see what happened.
Apparently, she had to work both nights, and just couldn't go. Huh. Well, I said some pleasantries. Also, my buddy Fletcher was there. He was in a good band awhile back, called Fletcher and the Prayers. I haven't seen 'em in awhile. (Also, he plays in The Weight. I wonder how The Weight is doing, anyway.)
They asked if I was staying, but no, I said goodbye, left the Charleston, and just a block down, I heard "Left Of The Dial" blaring out the door of Rosemary's Greenpoint Tavern. What a great song - just Saturday night, I was sitting in Lulu's, singing along to it with friends (as documented in this livejournal). I stopped and listened for a little, and out of nowhere, my friend Amanda came strolling down the street, walking her bike, with three others.
Amanda's a great girl, originally from Vermont (though I met her in Portland Maine), and so we chatted about what she was up to. Moving, not working, out with her three friends. I was feeling beat (still am... I gotta wrap this up!), so I bid her farewell and walked home, all the way home, and that's where I am now. They went off to the Levee, I believe.
You could say that I passed up any number of opportunities to hang out tonight. But they all had their drawbacks, and they were all in bars. I'm not made of $5 pints. I might, however, be made of $2 Yuenglings or Pabsts.
I guess I shouldn't complain about "all my friends not hanging out" when my walk home at 1 a.m. unquestionably proves otherwise.
Or maybe all of this just says something about me?
Sometimes I wonder if I'm the man keeping ready the last lifeboat, or rather the captain and band, playing on and on and on and on. And on.
Then I fall asleep to some loud music played quietly, wake up in the late morning or early afternoon, and do it all over again. That is all.