At about a quarter to midnight I was restless. I’d been under the weather lately and sleeping more than I probably should. So I decided to talk a walk. As soon as I set foot outside of my house, I was overcome by rowdiness. Sure it’s a fairly common thing in Hoboken as in any college town. You know; that boisterousness that spills from the bars into the streets on warm summer nights.
Yes, yes I know. It’s not summer. But it was over 60 when I walked out. This winter is much like last winter has been exceptionally warm. This makes it easier for insomniacs like me to walk it off. But the insanity of this weather has brought out the insanity of the party animals. Or more of it anyway. It was something I could not avoid no matter how I swerved. Of course I noticed a long time ago that sober swerving is no match for drunken ones.
I found my way to Louise & Jerry’s (329 Washington St, Hoboken) and thought what the heck I’ll go in for a drink and see who’s around. I’ll be damned if I didn’t recognize anyone in the packed house. I slowly made my way to the back near the pool table hoping to see a familiar face. Pat behind the bar acknowledged me with, “Hey Stephen. Jack & Coke?” I replied, “Nah, make it a Guinness tonight.” Then I finally saw folks I knew.
There was Greg and Jamie of Painted Faith and Jamie’s girlfriend Kara. We all talked about how weird it was for the bar to be so crowded and none of our usual friends were here. Jamie and I discussed the intricacies of what makes a decent business card when someone farted. We all knew who it was, and he did not deny it. It was Marc from End of October who had just walked in. We all laughed until the next cloud wafted our way.
This time it was not Marc and he made that point clear. After all, if he did it, he’d admit it. No, this time it was even too strong to be a fart. This massive impact of ass aroma seemed to come from the bathroom. I started to gag. Kara had gone to the bar and upon her return told us that it was worse over there. Those folks were too drunk to care I suppose, but Kara, Jamie and I had to leave.
We walked over to Duffy’s (239 Bloomfield St, Hoboken). I hadn’t been there in a while. We were immediately struck by the disinfected smell of pine. It’s a place where I walk in knowing I won’t know anyone but still have a good time. Lucky for me, the one person I do know is Chris Halleron; the guy that runs he joint. Chris is also a writer and we know many of the same people. It was good to see him and catch up as much as we could between thirsty patrons yelling for beer.
On the walk home, Jamie was jotting down information on a few homes for sale. They’re both just about ready to make that next residential move to permanent ownership. My mind was wandering a bit but Kara quickly talked me out of going to McDonald’s for a late night snack. She convinced me to instead go home and eat a tuna sandwich. Sorry Kara, I didn’t use the new recipe you gave me.
Though short, this was a good night. It ultimately didn’t clear up whatever was ailing me, but for a few hours, I was happy. What was my ailment? I’m not really sure. I’ve been struggling with that for a few weeks. I think it’s a depression caused by a self-imposed immobility. I’ve been keeping myself cooped up in my roost for a bit too long waiting for my next gig.
Sure, I’ve been getting a good deal of personal work done and my creativity has been heightened, but lately I admit that my spirit has been suffering. Thankfully nights like this will kick my eyes open and wake me up. Pretty ironic if you consider this night began with me trying to fall asleep.
