Post by Wolverine on Feb 17, 2011 16:24:19 GMT -5
Sometimes in our line of work its a good idea to unwind. Savin the world can be stressful as all hell, and even for someone like me, who heals anything, that means you have to give time to process the emotional shit.
Personally, I like a good hike to clear my head. Walking in the wilderness, hunting prey by smell, giving myself some time to recuperate. Get miles from anyone and just be alonw. Nice.
Course hiking has gotten a bit harder since the move to San Fran. Nothing close by to provide that benefit, and a bit too long of a road trip to do it on a whim. Don't feel much like 'borrowing' a jet either. Always got Scott or Beast giving me shit when I do that.
So instead of a hike I pick the next best thing, and decide to hit one of the local bars. Haven't had much chance to get aquainted of them yet, so I don't have an equivilent to Harry's to pick. Thats okay though. Good challenge to find a nice bar.
I set out shortly after dusk, taking my bike out by the bay, straying a bit from Pier 39 and the other tourist traps and closer to the blue collar neighborhoods.
It takes about thirty minutes of searching, but I find what I'm looking for, seedy little hole in the wall with a nice selection of hogs and the odd ricebike outfront. Bes tof all I spot a nice sign outfront, proudly proclaiming its pro smoking status. With the ordinances in place its hard as hell to find a place to light up, and harder still to find smoking and drinking in the same place. I can even hear some old school country coming from inside.
Not too bad.
I step inside, sparing the name on the front a glance as I make my way inside, 'Brick House'. Hmm. That raises an eyebrow.
I step inside, giving the place a once over, and confirming some suspicions right off the bat. If the name wasn't enough of a clue, then the clientele confirm it. Masculine looking women hanging about the smokey looking interior, with the odd lipstick wearing compatriot. Not a male insight, nor any aparent interest in having them. I can allready feel a half dozen eyes measuring me up.
Figures.
Shrugging to myself, I step up to the bar, getting the once over from the girl running the place, and sit myself down at an elbow, reaching into my jacket for a stogie while I order a beer. She sets me one down,, still keeping the fisheye look until I crack her a grin and speak in a gruff tone low with cigar smoke.
"Relax Darlin, ain't here to convert the clientele. Just needed a place that'd accomodate a beer an a stogie in the same joint. Smokin ordinances can make for strange bedfellows."
That earns me a laugh and a joke about my relative height...which given that she outclasses my by six inches and a hundred pounds is fairly apt. I chuckle obligingly and light up my cigar, starting in my beer as I keep my eyes in the mirror, watching everyone and no one, and keeping my hands to myself.
Personally, I like a good hike to clear my head. Walking in the wilderness, hunting prey by smell, giving myself some time to recuperate. Get miles from anyone and just be alonw. Nice.
Course hiking has gotten a bit harder since the move to San Fran. Nothing close by to provide that benefit, and a bit too long of a road trip to do it on a whim. Don't feel much like 'borrowing' a jet either. Always got Scott or Beast giving me shit when I do that.
So instead of a hike I pick the next best thing, and decide to hit one of the local bars. Haven't had much chance to get aquainted of them yet, so I don't have an equivilent to Harry's to pick. Thats okay though. Good challenge to find a nice bar.
I set out shortly after dusk, taking my bike out by the bay, straying a bit from Pier 39 and the other tourist traps and closer to the blue collar neighborhoods.
It takes about thirty minutes of searching, but I find what I'm looking for, seedy little hole in the wall with a nice selection of hogs and the odd ricebike outfront. Bes tof all I spot a nice sign outfront, proudly proclaiming its pro smoking status. With the ordinances in place its hard as hell to find a place to light up, and harder still to find smoking and drinking in the same place. I can even hear some old school country coming from inside.
Not too bad.
I step inside, sparing the name on the front a glance as I make my way inside, 'Brick House'. Hmm. That raises an eyebrow.
I step inside, giving the place a once over, and confirming some suspicions right off the bat. If the name wasn't enough of a clue, then the clientele confirm it. Masculine looking women hanging about the smokey looking interior, with the odd lipstick wearing compatriot. Not a male insight, nor any aparent interest in having them. I can allready feel a half dozen eyes measuring me up.
Figures.
Shrugging to myself, I step up to the bar, getting the once over from the girl running the place, and sit myself down at an elbow, reaching into my jacket for a stogie while I order a beer. She sets me one down,, still keeping the fisheye look until I crack her a grin and speak in a gruff tone low with cigar smoke.
"Relax Darlin, ain't here to convert the clientele. Just needed a place that'd accomodate a beer an a stogie in the same joint. Smokin ordinances can make for strange bedfellows."
That earns me a laugh and a joke about my relative height...which given that she outclasses my by six inches and a hundred pounds is fairly apt. I chuckle obligingly and light up my cigar, starting in my beer as I keep my eyes in the mirror, watching everyone and no one, and keeping my hands to myself.
