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Readers Blog: I Don't Understand Penny Loafers

Watered-Down Street

In lieu of a self-inflicted Indiana Jones marathon, I decided to finally heed the cal of my friend and come out for a drink.

The dynamic duo's first stop of the night was at an oblong establishment we have all been to or at least heard of: Taylor's. Walking up to the entrance, I expected it to me a miniature mecca for douchebaggery. Luckily, I was incorrect in my assumption and instead walked into a cozy, relaxed destination for business men & women looking to lose their day's aggravations in a whiskey-filled short glass. Being a nightlife lemming, I did the same. Hours later, the chairs began to fill up with overcompensating males... allowing me to close my tab and take my mini-dressed friend by the hand and flee into my car.

In it, our minds collaborated and came up with a temporary solution: Bar Louie. I turned the key, jammed the shifter into 1st and we were on our way. Once again, expecting to talk into a shoulder-to-shoulder establishment, I was proven wrong once again. The place gave an air of an almost-closed Applebees. Two or three people at the otherwise vacant table areas, and not many more peppered across the stools in front of the bar. Water Street tonight seemed to be letting me down in a most pleasant way. One round of drinks later, the tab was yet again closed and our means of entertainment was now focused on Live Band Karaoke at Red Rock Saloon.

My select few experiences with this place have been less than stellar, being surrounded by washboard abs and over-inflated egos is not my idea of a good time. But despite my protests, she was the one that made the decisions, as she was the one that looked jaw-droppingly spectacular in the mini dress. One final time, I was wrong. The tables were near empty, the roar of a crowd was absent, and the drinks were delivered quickly.

Why was I the facilitator of a string of inaccuracies? Did the planets align? Was I the victim of a time machine-induced paradox? No. The answer was much more simple. It was in fact, a Thursday. The majority of booze hounds had one more day of responsibility before they could unleash themselves upon the gin joints of our fair city.

Tonight, I wasn't on Water Street, I was on Watered-Down Street.

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