I’m at the Mews, grabbing a Sam Adams, and I realize my left back pocket is sewn shut. They’re new pants. Slacks really. Black. From Pac Sun. But they’re sewn in a way that you can rip it open with your fingers, if you’re forceful enough.
I take my index finger, and my middle finger, and rip it apart. And for some reason…it feels really good.
Like I accomplished something great in my day.
And then another band sets up. And I pour two Jack and Cokes.
I’ll always have the pocket.
From my heart to yours,
Clint Curtis. Bartender.