On The Rail: Laurelwood Brewpub

Rando #8 (The Ocho) which, with a name like that, how can I resist?

It’s got a nice pine resin nose. This is how you pour a tall beer: Foam.

That resiny quality is in the finish too but in between I’m getting a little sweetness in between. It’s quick, this sweetness, a kiss I stole from your girl, gone, barely remembered, almost never happened. Just long enough to keep me drinking.

There’s a slickness to the finish, too, reminding me of soap but not in an horrible, bitter, spit that out way. Just slippy, the texture enough to strike a hint of flavor.

It’s quiet here. I’m genuinely surprised; maybe the rain is keeping people away? But there is a solid 15 feet between me and the next fellow on the rail, the north corner populated with college football fans.  The volume is temperate, it’s easy to hear yourself, the music over the speakers, a question from the staff. If I ever meet someone to play Magic at 9pm, I should meet here. It’s lit pleasantly and not too crazy. And there is beer.

I keep leaning away from the keyboard because I don’t want my hat to drip water on it. I can see a crescent of water on the brim, blurry in the upper reaches of my vision, precarious, threatening to fall.

Of course if it does, nothing happens. So much worry and concern for a zero impact moment. How much time spent over nothing? It’s a little uncomfortable to ponder, how much time I spend on such nonsense.

I ask for my total to pay, the barkeep says, ‘wait a minute’; which is a little weird. I do have to pay for this, right? He comes back to me three minutes later when he can ring my beer up during happy hour. See? I didn’t have to worry about a thing.

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