Tahlia goes all beat poet in a non descipt bar..
The bar is like a mess hall, and the monochrome clothing worn by the patrons is, most commonly, vaguely militaristic. A war rages out in the real world; but here, anyone can get loudly drunk, if they want to, for 10 dollars. And want to they evidently do, given the line seen outside this place, I don’t know the name of, every Monday evening.
The aesthetic of this bar leaves nothing to the imagination- no theme, no pretence of classiness- simply a place to meet and drink. The music left no impression. I don’t even remember what was on the walls. And I’m usually the kind of person that notices something like that in a new place.
Stepping off the street into the noise feels like entering an alternate reality, where the drunken youth, packed in shoulder to shoulder, are like all the pigs before them, celebrating their impending slaughter. When the beer is this cheap, no one gives a fuck about anything except basic human needs, despite how into their arts degree or impressing other people they may be: somewhere to piss when we have to, something to eat when we’re hungry, and someone to lay with when we’re lonely. Everything there seemed sped up, amplified, desperate and exhibitionist.
When I left the building, I half expected to see the remains of buildings strewn over the streets, plumes of smoke rising from the rubble where a bomb had been dropped by some giant plane flying over head… A little bit of pool playing, a whole lot of outrageous flirting, no dancing. Smiles were clouded by long fringes or sultry makeup. It honestly felt as if all these young people were crammed into this ugly space, drinking as hard as they could on a Monday night, because we knew we were going to die as soon as we left.
All because of $4.50 jugs of beer. When you’re spending that little on a large amount of beer, it feels almost as if it’s free. Isn’t it funny how most human beings act when offered an acceptable poison at a discounted price? You want some of that, don’tcha?