#214
I’m at The Brig, on Abbot Kinney, a no-nonsense bar, with just enough nonsense to keep it fun. I’m early, on purpose; my friend will be late, and I join the ranks of barflies drinking happy hour martinis and watching baseball on mute. The old fellas next to me, one of them a music executive, the other, a kind of wealthy hobo, talk the talk of three drinks-in, at 5PM on a Monday. I’m not sure I need to catch up, but their energy spreads easily.
At the door, a bouncer keeps watch, but he’s not really concerned about underage drinkers, not here. The Brig isn’t the right temp for them. The bartender is stern, her day has been long, and I think maybe this is her second job - maybe she came in from a day of long corporate Zoom meetings or a shift as a nurse at a nearby hospital.
This isn’t really my side of town, but my friend and I had been wanting to eat at a joint just a few blocks away for some time, so I came early, like I said, because the traffic is bad and will only get worse. I put my name on the list, table for two, and then came here, where we agreed to meet.
The wealthy hobo asks me where I’m going to eat, and I tell him, and he says, it used ot be better, but it’s still decent. He and his music exec buddy are in the middle of asking each other trivia questions. The music exec asks him, what’s the name of the river in hell? And wealthy hobo says, “I didn’t know there was a river in hell,” and the music exec. says, there is, and it’s also the name of a band, which confuses wealthy hobo even more. After a minute or so, I chime in with Styx, and the music exec says that’s it, S T Y X, he spells it out for wealthy hobo, and then they order another round of happy hour martinis with both a twist and an olive.
By seven, I’m toast, but not in a bad way, and walk to meet my friend at the restaurant. Our table is ready, to my surprise, and he’s there, and we sit, and he tells me about his kid who is getting ready to get her license, and I think that sounds like a lot of fun, teaching a kid to drive in Southern California, and he says he loved it, and she’s actually pretty good.
The first round of food came and I was telling him about my trip home. I met my uncle, the long lost one, or lost to me anyway, and spent some time with my sister and my mom and came away feeling better than I had in a long time.
Me: I didn’t really expect that, you know.
Him: I get it. Sometimes you just need to check out - a layover.
The next round of food came, it was all these little plates which annoy me, all this sharing, but whatever.
Him: So what’s next?
Me: I’m not sure. That is future me, and I think I’ll know it when I see it. When I find it.
Him: Mystical.
Me: Hardly.
Inatead of dessert, we have a shot of green Chartreuse each, because it’s great, and then standing outside, the air still warm, the ocean, just a few blocks away, we both climb into cars and drive off into an LA night.
