I was looking for a parking space downtown on Tuesday so I could go to the bank to drop off all my hard-earned podcasting money. Fifth Street was blocked by a truck carrying some sort of insulation. But, I didn't mind, because workmen were carting off the material into my bar!
I stopped and had a look. The place looks surprisingly like it used to now that all the soot and grime has been cleared away. The bar has been pulled away, and all the kitchen equipment is gone. It felt good to stand on the terrazo, and it's going to be good to pull beers again there.
When I asked the workmen if I could come in, one of them said "Sure, but there's no beer here yet!" That's okay, though. I was just happy to be back in the space, even if for just a quick minute or so.
Striking down the mundane and dastardly while retaining a certain obscure turn of phrase, denoting something elusive yet concrete.
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Pour liquor and the women will come!
Update: Still not there yet, six months after the above post. Almost nine months since the fire, now. I was told they're getting ready to hire again.
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