In a weak moment I agreed to go hear a band with friends of Dave's. I must have just finished exercising and the endorphins were running high and the world was my oyster and I feared nothing. I have no other explanation as it was noon and I don't start drinking until later in the day.
Let's get this straight. I was divorced for seventeen years and many Saturday nights I was out with my friends and we would dance and drink and were stupid enough to never appoint a designated driver. Immortal, the young believe themselves to be. I would come across the Iowa- Illinois bridge after closing down two towns and I would see two bridges instead of one and I would hope that I was driving on the right bridge. I am grateful to any higher entity that allowed me to find my way home on those nights and I remember one time getting out of the car and kissing the ground in front of my apartment Those were fun, reckless, idiotic times but now I am content to sit on my couch at day's end and consume useless carb snacks and play with my various technological toys. I don't want to go out anymore.
The only thing that's going to save this night is that the band be good. They are from Iowa City, another bluesy, headstrong river town, so I'm not worried. Now if only Eleanor would not talk through the whole show and she will do that primarily because she is fueled by Long Island teas, glass after glass. What are those, five shots and a splash of Pepsi?
I liked the joint. There's lots of polished wood and a skylight with an angular Frank Lloyd Wright glass plate. Eleanor is content to sit next to the cowboy and he does not need to come up for air as I would have found necessary. The boys know a lot of the old Chicago stuff and I let the wailing cadences pull me under. The soulful, piercing notes intensify and get better the more you drink. But that's true of most things in life, wouldn't you say.