Sunday, October 19, 2003
bring on the beans and/or rice.
after a low key day of cleaning and lounging, the monkey said, "want to go to the cute bar on the corner we've never been to?" so we did, and within minutes of being served our five dollar guiness and three-fifty draft heineken, the waitress offered us free hotdogs from the stockpot on the hot plate, and the couple next to us, who'd won "the pool" this week, bought us drinks. it was like the geary club all over again.
the geary club was this tiny closet of a bar that the asshole and i went to when i was still underage and living with him in the tenderloin, in san francisco. he and his friends had sort of colonized the bar, and because they were the only non-homeless people under fifty there, they were immediately lionized and beloved by the clientele and staff alike. the nicest beer they had there was beck's, and we all drank bud with lime, little slices sticking out of the bottles. no one ever asked for my driver's license. i always felt like we were making fun of the place, a little bit, but i also sort of legitimately enjoyed it, since i could be taken at face value there. it was the first time i felt the pleasure of taking tips home in your pocket and then buying your boy a beer with them on the corner.
what was i saying? i think, just: i remember things about living in the poor neighborhood all the time. never the dastardly, dangerous poor neighborhood, but the one where the beer at the corner bar doesn't get better than heineken and only costs three fifty. i cooked beans from a can for dinner and was glad to have them. this maybe light years away from my software job, but i won't lie and say it wasn't what i was looking for.
the geary club was this tiny closet of a bar that the asshole and i went to when i was still underage and living with him in the tenderloin, in san francisco. he and his friends had sort of colonized the bar, and because they were the only non-homeless people under fifty there, they were immediately lionized and beloved by the clientele and staff alike. the nicest beer they had there was beck's, and we all drank bud with lime, little slices sticking out of the bottles. no one ever asked for my driver's license. i always felt like we were making fun of the place, a little bit, but i also sort of legitimately enjoyed it, since i could be taken at face value there. it was the first time i felt the pleasure of taking tips home in your pocket and then buying your boy a beer with them on the corner.
what was i saying? i think, just: i remember things about living in the poor neighborhood all the time. never the dastardly, dangerous poor neighborhood, but the one where the beer at the corner bar doesn't get better than heineken and only costs three fifty. i cooked beans from a can for dinner and was glad to have them. this maybe light years away from my software job, but i won't lie and say it wasn't what i was looking for.
