Bars are magical places. They hold the same mystique for adults that Narnia and Neverland once held, only, at a bar there’s booze, and that counts or something, right?
A clean well lit place touches a nerve in the same manner myth speaks to the subconscious. It invokes untethered memories of yesteryear and can turn a damp, dirty street corner into an escape, and if you’re keeping tabs, that’s the closest thing to a wardrobe that most adults have.
A soft sound of songs of a bygone era invoke a sense of class, one we all wish to embody but lack the tools to create. A bartender dressed in the costume reserved for zanni’s and waitstaff spark a sense of theatre in the whole experience. Combine these two ingredients with the magic that is alcohol and you can find yourself squeezing, for a moment, a bit more out of life.
And perhaps that is all any of us are after, just a little more out of life. Though we may not practice momento mori in an aesthetic fashion, we all understand our own mortality. Once the glimmer of youth fades away and the shine moves from our potential to our brow, we all understand that time is against us, and for many the only salvage they have is a full glass and a hope that tomorrow will be better.
So a toast to all the brown tops that give the working class a chance to feel important and to all the overpriced martini’s and craft cocktails that put the man’s dollar in the pockets of the overworked and underprivileged. There have been many well crafted cheers to the liquid that makes the nights a little longer and the days more bearable, but this one goes out to the establishments that make us feel more at home than the cubicle we call an apartment.
Brock D. Vickers
This is the beginning of a new part of life: a habit: an idea: a routine to dig at what makes a man great.