With five singles in my wallet I come to Angelo’s. Yeah, yeah I was here not long ago but I think everyone understands; sometimes you’re broke.
Plus, I can walk here, saving gas and all of these things add up because I’m off to the PAX (which I affectionately call the Geek Riots) this weekend. I’m just solvent enough to afford such trips while being just insolvent enough to clutch at the quarters that spill from my pocket consciously, concerned about holes in my pocket, slippy fingers, the exuberance of one beer more.
So with a Fat Tire amber ale, I catch the easy lingo on the rail at Angelo’s. The beer is notably biscuit flavored and nearly absent any hop presence. It reminds me that I need to do an Irish Ale quest soon.
The bar is populated this time, everyone knows the bartender and they’ve got the easygoing conversation that they can make out easily over the Social Distortion. Things feel loser in here tonight, which is fine by me. There’s a guy wearing a vest and no shirt and jeans so tight I’m fairly certain he’s stepped out of Saturday Night Fever. The barkeep has just tossed the hair of his friend at the bar and they’re casually throwing away a brief trouble spot from an earlier encounter the way good friends tend to do.
It’s almost as though if you had any issues, walking through the door deflated them.
The best places have a knack for doing that.