You couldn’t get a seat at the bar. It was stuffed full of folks watching the big screens, the big game, all wishing they were there.
Around the bar, the gorgeous and the timid gathered at tables and chatted up acquaintances on phones, wishing they were together, while waiters dealt drinks and thought idly of the time they got to get away. It was a mob, shoulder to shoulder, full of noise and stink and life, and not a one was present.
Except for the old man eating an ice cream cone by the door.
He was present as hell.
In your 20’s, bar drinks are fun. Flirty. You can get Sex on the Beach. A Screaming Orgasm. Buttery Nipple shots. Fireball shots. It’s essentially liquid sex candy and everybody’s getting laid.
In your 30’s, you’re moving up in the world. You graduate to a little class. You order a Cosmopolitan. A Something Martini. Maybe a Something Margarita, or a Vodka and Something.
By your 40’s, drinks should have names like Student Loan Payout. Oh my god, yes I’ll have one of those. Or Full Car Maintenance. Would you like a Home Loan Down Payment? Bartender, make it a 20%.