i was thinking of how i haven't done any writing lately, so i sat down and this is what came out:
As I open the cars door I hear the muffled sound of a rockabilly band; whiskey soaked crooning, heavy guitar riffs, the thud of drums, and the thump of a stand-up bass. I step out into the dirty humid street, lit only by the soft orange glow of a dying street light and the occasional flicker of neon. I walk up to the bar, pull open the heavy door, and step inside. Its just a shade brighter then the street, it smells of beer, and the band is no longer muffled and sounds amazing in their alcohol soaked glory. The bar is small, stools are sparse, and its as humid as it was outside. No one seems to mind the heat, theyre all bobbing their head to the music and are already slipping into the warm disjointed comfort you can only achieve after a few pints.
I look around and see my friend, Shannon, sitting half way down the bar, next to an empty stool which I soon learn she had been saving just for me. As soon as I sit down Frank, my favorite bartender, saunters over and asks Whatll it be?. Why he asks Ill never know, as Ive been ordering the same thing since I started coming to this joint, A Narragansett I tell him. Were sitting right next to the taps so hes pouring my drink before I even finish my sentence. While hes pouring the frothy golden refreshment into a crystal clear glass I glance at Shannons drink and say Better get get a Rum and Coke as well, shes quick to yell Captains making sure he uses her favorite rum.
With our drinks in hand, we spin our stools around and watch the band. There in the middle of an excellent rendition of Johnny Cashs Folsom Prison Blues, a perfect fit for a night such as this. While the band plays we slowly banter back and forth about life. Mostly we bitch about jobs, complain about the people who make up our lives, and share any out of the ordinary things that have happened lately. None of the conversation gets too serious though, after all were here to unwind and relax. After about a half a dozen songs the band announces theyll be taking a quick break. As they play one more song they pass around a silver bucket, me and Shannon each slip a few dollars in, as theyve been great. We each order another drink and after handing Frank the money for them we head to the patio.
On the patio we find its a bit cooler and a lot quieter. Here we can talk more without having to compete with those around us screaming over the band. The conversations more of them same, pointless banter and harmless bitching. This is soothing for me and I can only assuming its much the same for Shannon. We decide on one more drink before ending our night and savor them slowly as the band comes back on. Fifteen minutes later were standing outside, next to Shannons car. We say our goodbyes and share a hug. I turn and walk down the street to my car.
As I open the door I turn around and glance at the pink neon sign, Vicents it reads, a little lower theres another one, This Is It it proclaims. And you know what Vincents is It, Vincents is my escape, my therapy, its where Im at peace. Why? I couldnt tell you, but I suspect it has something to do with the atmosphere because much like me Vincents is neither proud nor ashamed of being different, it is simply its self and there is something very admirable in that.
As I open the cars door I hear the muffled sound of a rockabilly band; whiskey soaked crooning, heavy guitar riffs, the thud of drums, and the thump of a stand-up bass. I step out into the dirty humid street, lit only by the soft orange glow of a dying street light and the occasional flicker of neon. I walk up to the bar, pull open the heavy door, and step inside. Its just a shade brighter then the street, it smells of beer, and the band is no longer muffled and sounds amazing in their alcohol soaked glory. The bar is small, stools are sparse, and its as humid as it was outside. No one seems to mind the heat, theyre all bobbing their head to the music and are already slipping into the warm disjointed comfort you can only achieve after a few pints.
I look around and see my friend, Shannon, sitting half way down the bar, next to an empty stool which I soon learn she had been saving just for me. As soon as I sit down Frank, my favorite bartender, saunters over and asks Whatll it be?. Why he asks Ill never know, as Ive been ordering the same thing since I started coming to this joint, A Narragansett I tell him. Were sitting right next to the taps so hes pouring my drink before I even finish my sentence. While hes pouring the frothy golden refreshment into a crystal clear glass I glance at Shannons drink and say Better get get a Rum and Coke as well, shes quick to yell Captains making sure he uses her favorite rum.
With our drinks in hand, we spin our stools around and watch the band. There in the middle of an excellent rendition of Johnny Cashs Folsom Prison Blues, a perfect fit for a night such as this. While the band plays we slowly banter back and forth about life. Mostly we bitch about jobs, complain about the people who make up our lives, and share any out of the ordinary things that have happened lately. None of the conversation gets too serious though, after all were here to unwind and relax. After about a half a dozen songs the band announces theyll be taking a quick break. As they play one more song they pass around a silver bucket, me and Shannon each slip a few dollars in, as theyve been great. We each order another drink and after handing Frank the money for them we head to the patio.
On the patio we find its a bit cooler and a lot quieter. Here we can talk more without having to compete with those around us screaming over the band. The conversations more of them same, pointless banter and harmless bitching. This is soothing for me and I can only assuming its much the same for Shannon. We decide on one more drink before ending our night and savor them slowly as the band comes back on. Fifteen minutes later were standing outside, next to Shannons car. We say our goodbyes and share a hug. I turn and walk down the street to my car.
As I open the door I turn around and glance at the pink neon sign, Vicents it reads, a little lower theres another one, This Is It it proclaims. And you know what Vincents is It, Vincents is my escape, my therapy, its where Im at peace. Why? I couldnt tell you, but I suspect it has something to do with the atmosphere because much like me Vincents is neither proud nor ashamed of being different, it is simply its self and there is something very admirable in that.
ravioli:
Hi, Neighbor!
