Reading back over the blog, I find it remarkable that a month has already gone by.
I do like the utility of the blog though. Of being able to remember things more easily through the words; they act as cues for my memory. They bring images to mind of each night's visit and remind me of all the things I didn't write and that I chose not to write.
There are some times now that I won't visit Jack's. This is not to say I'll miss a day. Not at all.
You know what, fuck that. I won't go in because I'm behaving like a pussy. Those words I lined out also imply it's others who make me feel uncomfortable, but the truth is nobody at Jack's does that. Not one person. If there's an issue, it's with me.
The walls at Jack's were still bereft of artwork (hanging is on Tuesday, IIRC) and was full of people I didn't recognize, save for three.
There was Rina behind the bar, in a particularly jovial mood. Her laughter came easily and drowned out the sounds of the Pro Bowl coming from all the speakers, as well as the conversations of the patrons, but it wasn't unpleasant.
Rina has the kind of laugh that sort of grabs you and lifts you up as though a whole crowd of people were laughing at a shared joke and you feel the need to get in on it so you can have fun too.
There was a couple I've seen before. He: handsome in a simple t-shirt. She: all dark, curly locks of hair, with a face that makes you want to capture it in every form of media imaginable because it's so incredibly beautiful. I know their names, but won't write them.
I tried to find substitute names for them ala the Naming Conspiracy, but I'd have to use an Archangel and a Porn Star to do it. Doesn't seem right.
Plz get ur phone fixd soon, Drew!
Anyway, I had my beers, watched some football and made to hit the road. Fortunately I ran into Shannon and Lisa as they were walking in, then my bar buddy Gary outside.
They lent a sense of "this is what I'm used to" to the night.
Good man, that Gary.
See you very late on Monday night at Jack's.