There I was drinking a beer at Yur's Bar, a smoky cross between a block party and a Soviet Blockade adjacent a freeway off ramp. Having already finished my first beer John walks in as my waitress Brie, brings me another Sessions.
"How's architecture treating to today John?" I ask. "I'd rather be running the Zipper at the fair," he retorts. "Sure you get a carnie's wage but you can collect all the keys and change you want."
I called John to ask him some questions regarding my long overdue article on architecture, as meeting an architect feels like relevant work, much the same as me asking my friend if I can photograph buildings from her hotel's roof feels like work.
John's words are slow and slurred and I ask if he's on something. He replies, "No, I've been drinking heavily and haven't ate." He pounds his first beer. Brie walks by to see if he needs another and, since I'm paying, he does. "I like your name...it's fun," I say to her amusement. "Thanks, my son's name is Jack and together we're Jack and Cheese," she says before walking behind the bar.
Her response seemed abrupt and forced like she was shoe-horning information into her reply. She had a way about her but I left it at that. "Why did she mention her son?" I ask John. "Scare you off probably," John replies. "Is this interview over with, otherwise you're paying for my next beer."
We drink and John says he has to leave. Eric is on a date so I leave it at that and decide to get a bite to eat at Huber's Cafe. Brie charges me only four dollars for three beers.
I pay and ride my bike to Huber's where there is surprisingly few people for a Thursday night. I notice the hostess is wearing black and white leather, peep-toe wedge shoes that look terrible uncomfortable. "They're not so bad," she replies.
I eat my burger and fries and coffee and Alison, my waitress and former colleague, charges me $4.20 for the meal. I pay and walk outside as the hostess is leaving. She is ahead of me and I shout, "You better not be following me."
She laughs and I walk with her to the Max as she talks about her former career as a professional ballet dancer. "That explains your love of uncomfortable shoes," I say. She laughs.
"I was in an accident and am unable to preform anymore," she says with a heavy heart to a total stranger. "Had I known, I would have never chosen ballet." The Max arrives right then.
"Maybe ballet chose you," I say. She smiles, steps through the Max's open doors and replies, "My name is Brittany, yours?" "Sean," I say. The doors begin closing as she says "I look forward to meeting you again."
"How's architecture treating to today John?" I ask. "I'd rather be running the Zipper at the fair," he retorts. "Sure you get a carnie's wage but you can collect all the keys and change you want."
I called John to ask him some questions regarding my long overdue article on architecture, as meeting an architect feels like relevant work, much the same as me asking my friend if I can photograph buildings from her hotel's roof feels like work.
John's words are slow and slurred and I ask if he's on something. He replies, "No, I've been drinking heavily and haven't ate." He pounds his first beer. Brie walks by to see if he needs another and, since I'm paying, he does. "I like your name...it's fun," I say to her amusement. "Thanks, my son's name is Jack and together we're Jack and Cheese," she says before walking behind the bar.
Her response seemed abrupt and forced like she was shoe-horning information into her reply. She had a way about her but I left it at that. "Why did she mention her son?" I ask John. "Scare you off probably," John replies. "Is this interview over with, otherwise you're paying for my next beer."
We drink and John says he has to leave. Eric is on a date so I leave it at that and decide to get a bite to eat at Huber's Cafe. Brie charges me only four dollars for three beers.
I pay and ride my bike to Huber's where there is surprisingly few people for a Thursday night. I notice the hostess is wearing black and white leather, peep-toe wedge shoes that look terrible uncomfortable. "They're not so bad," she replies.
I eat my burger and fries and coffee and Alison, my waitress and former colleague, charges me $4.20 for the meal. I pay and walk outside as the hostess is leaving. She is ahead of me and I shout, "You better not be following me."
She laughs and I walk with her to the Max as she talks about her former career as a professional ballet dancer. "That explains your love of uncomfortable shoes," I say. She laughs.
"I was in an accident and am unable to preform anymore," she says with a heavy heart to a total stranger. "Had I known, I would have never chosen ballet." The Max arrives right then.
"Maybe ballet chose you," I say. She smiles, steps through the Max's open doors and replies, "My name is Brittany, yours?" "Sean," I say. The doors begin closing as she says "I look forward to meeting you again."
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