My Favourite Place

I’m walking down my street with my headphones in. Its dark and I can pick up the scent of burning wood that reminds me of the past.  The 90’s for some reason.

My headphones spill the song Bang Exclusive by Brooklyn native Sean Price,  one of the few modern day hip hop artists that has kept that golden era 90’s lyricism alive.

It’s a Pity Sean is dead.   His music isn’t however.  He rhymes in and around the beat like a boxer pestering his opponent with endless combinations of jabs and crosses.

Soon I get to the end of the street where the bar is.

I swing the side door inwards and that musty bar smell mixed with steak and chips hits me in the senses like stepping into a steam room.

I walk up to the bar and the girl behind it smiles and says “schooner of super dry” before I can even open my mouth.

That’s interesting I think to myself.  I don’t remember her but she remembers me and she remembers my drink.

I pay for my beer and hold her eye for slightly longer than is needed.  I sit down on a high stool and tall table and make sure I can see the Friday night football.  The place is ¾’s full and a noisy blanket of conversation sits in the room covering every one in it.  My headphones however are on full so all I can hear is Trigger Treach from naughty by nature rhyming about ci-lo and how he needs a new pair of shoes.

Everyone on the strip is more than one time offenders,
and they trusting the roll like they trustin’ public defenders.
You see ’em, don’t want to be ’em, hope ci-lo free ’em,
I’m schemin, a fuckin’ demon, after per diem, I’m leaving,
sometimes this evening, yeah in the pm,
not even, wit attitude rude cause fool I’m geein,

I don’t usually arrive at my favourite place until about my 4th beer.

Somewhere round then if I find the right song and put it on repeat,  I can drift off into a sense of effortless freedom as I sit in this crowded room with nothing to do but listen and feel.

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