I almost didn’t make it, as I was exhausted and cranky after my night job. But I persevered. After all, I made a promise. A promise to MYSELF.
You never know what to expect when you walk in. Tonight there were maybe fifteen people there, a mellow yet jovial crowd. The Ting Tings and Chromeo playing on the jukebox. I took a seat at the bar. Saw a few familiar faces–some I hadn’t seen for awhile–yet didn’t feel like talking to anyone so perched at the bar I stayed.
The guy sitting next to me got up and left for awhile. He came back smelling of weed. A few minutes later, he attempted awkward small talk. “Looking for a better bar?” he asked as he caught me checking my phone. “No.” (Seriously. Why is it so hard for me to be pilot? Or at least not AWKWARD?!) Then his girlfriend game. Pheww.
I learned Carl’s serves Icehouse tallboys. (You learn something new every day.)
The word “strap-on” was uttered across the bar, followed by “I’ve got bigger tits than some of the chicks that come in here.” (Said by a man.)
Metro Station “Shake It” came on and I expected balloons and bubbles to fall from the ceiling. Or at least dancing. But there was nothing.
Then it was all 90s music for awhile–Real McCoy, Marky Mark . . . pure bliss. Yet still no dancing.
Enchiladas were served.
As I walked out, 2 Live Crew’s “Me So Horny” came on.
Just another night at Carl’s.