Frankies

Ok.

Tonight I had a few drinks with some work colleagues(ish).

After venue number one closed we moved to venue two, one Frankie’s Bar.

Masquerading as a sort of Hamburg tavern circa 1966, with pizza slices and a real live band (sort of).

On the way in security asked:

“How many have you had to drink tonight?”

Initially surprised and sober enough to comprehend the situation…

“Three beers” (plus 7…)

“Where did you drink them?”

“Ryan’s”

I passed the American sobriety test. Fuck America and everything they have wrought on the world.

In Frankie’s you have the appearance of a cavern bar but I kept looking around waiting for the hologram to crinkle.

Beers in plastic mugs. Security everywhere. Shit fake band. Posters on the walls way, too evenly plastered. The world’s most expensive pizza. Gen Y’s smart-phoning their way through a night out.

I am so, so glad I lived through the seventies and eighties before all this shit.

Poor fuckers.

I made up for the whole experience with a ride home on the pushie. I think. I even shouted at Mia’s place in a show of misplaced solidarity.