I had a whole post written in my head about this "adventure," but I allowed a hangover and too much time to pass and lost the momentuem.
Therefore, in a nutshell (with apologies to the ex-pat who wanted to go with me), here it is:
This past Sunday night, after work and a couple of Dirty Martini's with Lilly, I called Complex Carrie to see if they felt like going out for a drink. Due to financial lacking and an acute sense of the "sleepies," they rejected my proposal for intoxicating liquids and Mac-babble.
I and Lilly finished our drinks. I looked at her and she looked at me. And then she walked away to lick herself or something. She also rejected my proposal for heading out into the night. I smoked a cigarette, leaning against the kitchen sink, suffering from a trifecta of Boredom, Restlessness, and Vodka.
The Beast of the City hummed outside my window. I needed to stroke her moonlit black fur.
I went to The Ho, that seedy looking bar I've past on the way to The Lamp Post.
Tucked in the middle of no where in north Rogers Park, it sits with a single neon beer sign and a white sign above the door simply stating "The Ho" with a picture of a dog or something. I did a last hit off my Camel Light, flicked it into the alley, took a deeeeep breath and enter the bar.
Dark. Divey. And not bad.
Like I said, too much time has passed to full and properly finish this post. I'll try to post more about the next time (next time?) I hit The Ho.