i loaded up my book and hit lovejoy's. beer #1 went down smoothly enough until i got to the last quarter.
then i met oliver. oliver was not the same sweet jewish lumberjack bartender we all know and love in dallas. oh no. oliver. oliver. oliver was a strung out looking fellow who seated himself at my small table and started up with the small talk. oliver tried his best to coerce me into telling him a story. oliver swooned and swaggered over a cup of coffee that read "i'm a crab before my morning coffee".
during his first sip, i waited for the torrent of hot coffee to assault my leg, but he managed not to spill. as he told me that he is a metal worker who created the bar stools for lovejoy's, he explained he likes his job because he doesn't have to deal with people. he believes people are, well shit. i forget the word. but it made me wonder what the fuck he was doing talking to me.
after i came back from my reprieve in the restroom to see spilled coffe and then to have my beer spilled on me, oliver got the hint from our lack of conversation that it was time to go. and he went.
as a result of my inability to decipher how to get into the dobie theater to see a midnight showing of the life of brian, i decided to make my way to the only bar i knew of away from sixth street. barfly's.
after circling like a vulture three times, i finally honed in on the locale and my bladder screamed happy refrains that it would not have to suffer a trip all the way back to the hotel before emptying its contents.
eh. fuck this. i'm tired. the rest of the details shall greet you tomorrow.