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Tag: Personal Reflections on the Culture of Bars

  For someone who’s logged as many hours as I did at Freddy’s (RIP), I really can’t remember much about it. No sign outside—or maybe just the one, for PBR, flickering, upside down. (Or was it?) Wooden booths, a backroom—or a downstairs? Both? Saloon style-shutters leading to the graffiti-covered toilets, which otherwise didn’t really close. Three-dollar PBR on ice in a cooler under the bar, never cold enough, but for $3 (or was it $2,...
A girl walks into a bar. I’m the girl, and the bar is called Fort Defiance. It’s the place where I’ll try a Bloody Mary for the first time, goaded on by my brother’s soon-to-be ex-wife. The drink is spicy and thick, like a slightly scary snack, and it’s speared with pickled okra. It’s my second time visiting New York City, the first time since high school. I’ll live inside my brother’s breaking marriage...
When I got my own apartment, I thought it would make writing easier. In fact, I thought it would make everything easier (except, of course, having money); I would go to sleep and wake up when I wanted, shower without waiting for a roommate to finish, do dishes covered in nothing but the remains of food I myself had chosen. It would all be mine, and so in these ideal conditions I would naturally...
Maybe you’ve seen it after hopping into the back seat of a cab upon your arrival at O’Hare International Airport and chuckled at the sign posted next to the Taxi TV. Or perhaps one of your friends snapped a picture of it and uploaded it to Instagram so that all of their followers can laugh about it as they drive into the city. It’s toward the end of the list of fares, between the...

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