Tuesday, August 25, 2009

The Firehouse Lounge

The three flights of carpeted stairs leading up to this place are crooked. As I climb them, it occurs to me how difficult it will be to walk back down them later, when I’m hammered. I will need to be careful when that time comes. The lounge is on the third floor of this building and I have no idea what’s on the other floors. Don’t care. The front of the lounge is comprised of three enormous, arched windows. The sun isn’t completely down yet, and it’s flooding the place with a warm pink glow. I feel like I’m standing inside a giant, gaping, square vagina. The bar is top notch, like everything here, other than the corny paintings of palm trees on the wall. No idea what that’s about. Everything else is great. Couches everywhere. Big cushions. Excellent interior design decisions abound. Everybody dressed nicely, except me. I don’t belong here. Fortunately for me, I don’t give a shit. Impressing corny, vain jackasses is not an aspiration of mine. It’s my friend Dana’s birthday and I will be drinking…a lot. Our waitress is stunning. She’s a black girl, about 5’7.” She’s got a nose ring hanging in the center of her face like a door knocker. Normally that looks bad on girls, but it’s cute on her. She’s got dreadlocks, about two feet long. Some are dyed pink or bleached white. There are lots of nice tattoos on her arms. They’re not overcrowded with them, just spaced out tastefully. The DJ is spinning nothing but funk, soul, and R&B hits of the '60s, '70s, and '80s. Everywhere our waitress walks, she’s dancing and smiling. I don’t know if it’s a strategy to get tips or if it’s a sincere expression of joy. I don’t care. She is amazing. She can rotate her hips like a belly dancer, and smile like it’s all she knows how to do. There are lots of other girls here but she stands out. My wife is talking with Dana and I’m making small talk with various other people. I don’t really know them all that well but we’ve got friends in common. It’s a good night. The gym will be closed tomorrow morning, so I don’t have to wake up and go there. I can stay out later than usual and drink more than usual. I just need to be able to make it down those crooked fucking stairs.

All content copyright 2009 Michael Scuro - All Rights Reserved