Picture the scene. A lonely windy night in L.A. Three happyrobots and one dude meet in a sushi bar attached to the less than utilitarian Best Western in the valley where we Canadians were staying.
We share some sake and become quick friends. We snap photos on our digital phones and sponge up free sashimi. So generous! They are about to close down the restaurant for the night so we finish off our edamame and take to the streets in search of drink.
We see a yellow neon sigh across the street, I cannot recall what it said on the sign but the police car parked in front taught us to look elsewhere. We didn't have to look far, kitty corner to our hotel was The Port - A sports bar.
We made our way inside, through the crowd of middle aged bearded beer drinkers and homeboys without homes. It was dark and desperate inside. We quickly hit the bar for fresh drinks taking in the live music. It was Tori Amos sans fairies, magic or red hair. We patiently waited for the set to end, and we sidle into a dimly lit red booth.
We sip drinks and try to talk over the bang bang rattle ding dang loud tunes of the next band. I have lost my voice as is often the case. I pulled out a pen and some old scraps of paper. Here is what we had to say:
me: "I heart L.A. @ The Port! Toronto doesn't have anything like this!" [editor's note: I am actually quite sure T.O. has a LOT like this and much much worse!)
sunshine jen: "The other side of the Hollywood Hills doesn't either."
mina: "This is what I call sweet saxophone"
me: "Wow. She has a scrunchie!"
"P.S. the waitress' shorts are straight out of Arrested Development."
mina: draws photo of jean shorts with 2 sxy on them
I can't remember much else, but we quickly drained our drinks and said our goodbyes. (Sorry this is so long overdue but new job has sucked up lots of excess energy.)