\u201cOkay,\u201d I told James as he flooded the engine of his Triumph Spitfire which, despite years of neglect, was in remarkably reliable condition. Somewhat. He beat his head on the steering wheel and screamed. I continued. \u201cWe do have a purpose today.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat purpose?\u201d he muttered, head against the wheel, hands on the cracked dashboard.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe have to mention that I have an Amazon Wishlist<\/a> to everyone we meet, and tell them my pitiful sob story so they\u2019ll buy me stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh my god.\u201d<\/p>\n I pulled out a wax bag, because I inherited 5000 boxes from my grandmother, and handed him one of the cards I had inside. \u201cI had cards made up with the link to the wishlist on one side, and the link to my sob story on the other.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n James took the card, sat up straight with a sigh, then squinted at the cursive, \u201c\u2019Nacho Sasha: Man About Town\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou have to help me hand them out to everyone we meet.\u201d<\/p>\n May 10th. My 37th May 10th. Or was it the start of my 37th May 10th? How\u2019s the counting work? I\u2019m a year ahead if I\u2019m Chinese, right? But, in the west, we\u2019re all zeroes when we\u2019re born. And then we rise through the ranks and seek fortune and glory on the battlefield! Ev\u2019ry man a king!<\/p>\n Every year \u2013 even when I was in school \u2013 I take the day off. When I was a kid, I had to fake illness. High school was easier because I was a latchkey kid and mom worked 14 hours a day. The day off would be me time. I\u2019d sit around and watch TV, or run around in the woods, or, in college, get drunk on the roof of the dorms and stare into the sun or, in my adulthood, get drunk on the roof and stare into the sun. It was always a good day. And, recently, it\u2019s become a day of reflection. What the fuck am I fucking doing? Holy fuck.<\/p>\n Today, my old college buddy James took off work as well \u2013 though, to be honest, I\u2019m not 100% sure what he does these days \u2013 and said he\u2019d take me out on a pubcrawl. It was his present to me \u2013 we\u2019d drink all day and drive a very dangerous British car around and then I could go to bed and build a horrible hangover for a Wednesday workday. That\u2019s the way you turn 37 in Nacho\u2019s world.<\/p>\n For old time\u2019s sake, James had ferreted out some bizarre back alley bar somewhere in Fort Totten. He wouldn\u2019t tell me anything about it, just that it started serving at 9am \u2013 per my long ago lament<\/a> \u2013 and we could start there and slowly work our way back to Silver Spring where annoying, half-drunk, pretentious white guys approaching middle age and driving in POS British collectibles were welcome.<\/p>\n He raised his hand, exhaled, then slammed down clutch and gas and got the car going.<\/p>\n \u201cNice.\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cI wonder if we\u2019ll have to keep it running all day.\u201d He muttered.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNothing! To the bar!\u201d He backed up at top speed, took off with squealing tires, and we screamed down my road, onto Washington Avenue, and then came to an abrupt stop and crawled helplessly down East West highway in the tailings of morning rush hour.<\/p>\n At Fort Totten, I got turned around as James weaved through the neighborhoods. As far as I could tell, his \u201cbar\u201d was the basement apartment of a rowhouse behind the library on South Dakota St. We puttered down an alleyway, parked with several other cars on a gravel verge, and then James reluctantly shut off the Triumph and got out.<\/p>\n \u201cThis is a house.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA public house, old bean!\u201d he said in a horrible British accent. Then he opened the gate to reveal a somewhat cozy beer garden.<\/p>\n Two locals stopped talking and stared at us, fight or flight playing across their faces, until James raised his hands as if surrendering and said, \u201cMitosis!\u201d<\/p>\n They cheered, then went back to drinking.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere the fuck are we, James?\u201d<\/p>\n He stuck a white Totes umbrella in the air and walked briskly towards the basement entrance, \u201cWith me! With me!\u201d he chanted.<\/p>\n The basement bar was a combination of every bar in DC and the bar from The Shining<\/em>, at least in terms of the bartender who looked like he had just stepped out of a 1920\u2019s photo and grinned malevolently at us.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019ll be, sirs?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHair of the dog that bit me, Lloyd!\u201d I said in my best Nicholson.<\/p>\n His smile faded, \u201cSeriously?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSorry. I\u2019ll have a gin and tonic.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGrouper Parasite.\u201d James muttered. I glanced curiously at him while the bartender rushed off and started working. My gin and tonic came within minutes, but the drink James ordered took some time. We both stared in mixed awe and trepidation as the bartender poured several liquors into a blender, ground bright purple ice cubes in a food processor, threw handfuls of rosemary and mint in, brewed a cup of herbal tea and, somehow, combined all the ingredients into a grainy, grey liquid served in a ludicrously large martini glass.<\/p>\n \u201cHouse specialty,\u201d James said, taking a sip.<\/p>\n Stunned, I took a sip of my g&t, then sputtered. \u201cDude, this is just gin.\u201d<\/p>\n The bartender glared at me, \u201cI have a heavy hand. If you don\u2019t like it, maybe I could make you a Shirley Temple, sir. Or get you a Sprite, no ice, and a copy of a Spanish newspaper for you to read in the corner like a fucking queer.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, no. It\u2019s great.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cVery good, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFrankly,\u201d James said, his lips stained an odd pinkish-brown and rosemary stuck in his teeth, \u201cI find it odd that you start your birthday with a gin and tonic. A bit fey, if you ask me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYour birthday today, sir?\u201d the bartender asked.<\/p>\n \u201cUm. Yes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd how old are you, sir?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c37.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEver closer, sir. Ever closer.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCloser?\u201d<\/p>\n He glared at me, then turned away.<\/p>\n I leaned in close to James, who was licking his glass clean, \u201cWe\u2019re going to move on after this, right?\u201d<\/p>\n Between Fort Totten and Silver Spring, there\u2019s not much open for AM drinking. I had harbored hopes that Cedar Crossing<\/a> had changed their hours, but no luck there. There\u2019s something generally soulless about Takoma Park, anyway. At least the soullessness of Silver Spring has certain panache. The former warehouse district hell has taken a desperate, sick pleasure at being urbanized, pasteurized, and homogenized. If you can\u2019t beat them, I suppose, you simply must join them. But, even then, AM drinks are hard, so we decided to dawdle in the dreaded wasteland of upper Silver Spring, a small caf\u00e9 in a White Oak strip mall that was open early and served beer and wine. We sat at a table and drank a steady stream of Miller High Life, waiting for AM to turn to PM so we could return to Silver Spring proper and cruise for lunchtime booze.<\/p>\n The waitress was a gentle soul. We were her only customers, so she hung out for a bit each time she brought us a refill, which was fairly often because James and I decided to see if we could drink each Miller in one swallow.<\/p>\n \u201cYou all from out of town?\u201d she asked with an out of town accent.<\/p>\n \u201cOn the contrary, dear waitress,\u201d James replied, \u201cMy friend Nacho here is the man about<\/em> town.\u201d<\/p>\n I grinned and pressed my business card into her hands. \u201cThere\u2019s a link to my Amazon wishlist<\/a> on\u2026this side.\u201d I slurred.<\/p>\n \u201cUm\u2026\u201d She looked confused.<\/p>\n \u201cNacho\u2019s incomplete unless he can look at Jon Pertwee once a day.\u201d James explained. He raised an eyebrow, \u201cAre you aware of Jon Pertwee\u2019s oeuvre?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHis\u2026what?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s a Tom Baker girl!\u201d I said. \u201cNice place you got here!\u201d<\/p>\n She snapped to attention as if I\u2019d struck her, \u201cIt is indeed! We\u2019re all very proud of it! It\u2019s the Bronze Award Winner on the Barfly blog!\u201d<\/p>\n James and I exchanged a glance, then I looked away and took a long, slow drink from my beer.<\/p>\n \u201cBronze Award?\u201d James asked.<\/p>\n \u201cYes!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou say that like it\u2019s a good thing.\u201d<\/p>\n The waitress blinked. \u201cIt\u2026it is. It\u2019s an honor.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIs it? Because when you say \u2018bronze award,\u2019 do you know what I think? My first reaction?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2026no.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI think to myself, \u2018Gosh, Mortimer\u2019 \u2013 that\u2019s my name, Mortimer Richlund \u2013 \u2018why aren\u2019t you going to the gold or the silver awarded bars?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n James raised his finger for silence and took out his phone, \u201cIn fact, that\u2019s what I\u2019m gonna do. I\u2019m gonna get online and look up Barfly\u2019s gold and silver ranked bars. Unless you want to save me the trouble?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat? No!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOkay. We\u2019ll go ahead and cash out, then.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAre you serious?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m just about as serious as the blood clot that killed my father.\u201d James looked into middle space wistfully, \u201cOh, if I could only meet that blood clot someday.\u201d<\/p>\n * * * *<\/p>\n 3pm. McGinty\u2019s upper bar. We were pretty bad off after hitting about five other spots for quick drinks and quicker exits. I was on KIlkenny and James had switched to vodka tonics. He didn\u2019t seem to mind the famously light hands of the McGinty\u2019s bartenders. The barest whisper of vodka gave the tonic a certain edgy flavor. The bartenders took his moody silence as a victory and secretly congratulated themselves on the bad pours, but James had other things on his mind.<\/p>\n \u201cBitches.\u201d He said, raising his glass. \u201cLet\u2019s find you one for tonight. How about a redhead?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo. Broken pussies and bad attitudes.\u201d<\/p>\n He looked at me through narrowed eyes. \u201cUm\u2026 A blonde?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUntrustworthy. Too well armed.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNacho\u2026we\u2019re talking about girls.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUh-huh.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOkay.\u201d He downed his drink and slammed the glass on the table. The bartender came over, face smug.<\/p>\n \u201cAnother one?\u201d<\/p>\n James leaned in close and whispered, \u201cI know what you\u2019re doing. I\u2019m letting you get away with it because it\u2019s a day of peace. A day of rest. One day, out of the whole fucking, terrible year where I try \u2013 \u201c he wrung his hands together and ground his teeth, then sobbed, \u201c \u2013 oh, I try to do no harm.\u201d<\/p>\n His next drink had plenty of vodka.<\/p>\n \u201cSo, no redheads or blondes for Nacho. Back to basics? Back to the bottom of the fucking food chain? A brunette? Plain and hungry? The wounded gazelle that tries and tries but fails to escape the lions?\u201d<\/p>\n I nodded, \u201cI like brunettes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s because you\u2019re a broken, sad, simple man.\u201d<\/p>\n A few moments of silence passed, which I broke first. \u201cSo\u2026are you going to find me one?\u201d<\/p>\n James shrugged. \u201cNah. I give up. And I suddenly lost vision in my left eye.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShit, James\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, no. Just give me a moment. Change the subject. Talk about something else.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMy Amazon wishlist<\/a>?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo. Talk about your favorite tree.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe Redbud!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course. You have one.\u201d<\/p>\n I told James all about redbuds and showed him some pictures I\u2019d taken from a few weeks ago of particularly beautiful examples and, slowly, his vision returned. We stayed till 5pm then, because middle age and bank accounts are limiting forces, we returned to my apartment and cracked open the Johnny Walker I\u2019d stolen from my weekend job.<\/p>\n James raised his glass. \u201cMay 10th!\u201d<\/p>\n I clinked mine to his and downed the whiskey.<\/p>\n \u201cSo, man about town, what\u2019s next? What will happen between this May 10th and its opposite in 2012?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m gonna move!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo you\u2019re not.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, I\u2019m gonna move towards moving.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere we go.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPay off the debt.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAmen.\u201d<\/p>\n