9-23-05 5:55pm
I sit here, at O’Malley’s Pub (no, not that O’Malley’s Bar).
After a redonkulous climb up a steep-ass hill to get here, I find a place to lock to, and enter.
The first thing I notice when I sit down at the bar: the copper bar top is cool, and somehow, they channel the cold air to the edge of the bar, cooling your arms.
It’s pretty cool.
Unfortunately, that’s the only thing about this god-forsaken bar that is cool.
The Guinness Draught is almost warm, and they don’t have hard liquor.
I said fuck (not very loudly), and the bartender told me to watch my mouth.
What in the bloody fuck is wrong with this place?
Luckily, it’s friday, and they close late.
10pm.
There is a neighbor with a wireless signal, but it’s not strong enough to hitch to, so I am reduced to writing this up in nano.
My one word summary of this bar? : fuckthisplace.
Fuck this county, fuck their liquor laws, and fuck these hills.
I can’t wait to get back to Houston. Never thought I’d say that.
:edit:
The food part of this place closes at ten.
The people are nice, the liquor laws aren’t.