Another jewel from my memory is to be thrown on the flaming pyre of history later this month, though it’s been many years since I’ve been to it. Many years since Kathryn, six foot six with a pixie cut, concert promoter, and one of my truest friends, dragged me around the dance floor of that run down packed to the gills local favorite dive bar, introducing me to friendly people. She was the only person in town that I knew, and the only person anyone needed to know.
When I needed a night out drinking, she’s who I would call. I’d drive down to TC, a larger city than here an hour or so south, sometimes book a room, sometimes claim a couch, and have fun getting drunk with all the lovely college kids in the lovely college town. Union Street was a staple. They had pool tables and live music most weekends. All the hip kids went there, and the more I drank the more I felt at home.
I don’t get drunk anymore, but when I did- I’d just get happier and warmer and have more fun. And when the drinks would start to wear off, I never felt like drinking more- some people follow that path. I always just felt like smoking a joint and crashing out in peace, which is what I always did.
We’d get drunk at the bars laughing with people, playing games- then we would hike somewhere like a little park or a playground somewhere in the residentials to smoke a joint, then we would walk to our place of sleeping and sleep the sleep of the young and the just.
Hearing about the place closing jarred a lot of memories from that era loose. What a treasure those nights are to me now. I almost noticed at the time. “And I think of my life as vintage wine from fine old kegs, from the brim to the dregs, it poured sweet and clear- it was a very good year.”
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