Recently I’ve been reading a wonderful book called Come Here Often by Sean Manning & many others. (which can be purchased here) It’s a wonderful book of essays about the writers’ favorite bars, or at least the bars that hold a certain place in their hearts. This has inspired me to write about a certain bar from my own history and what position it holds in my own sorted past.
I hate Murphy’s Pub. I hate just about everything about it. From the cheap shots that they pour down the patron’s throats, to the barely legible bass heavy music, to the Discovery Channel-esque feral display that is commonplace on the weekends. It’s a place where souls go to sleep for a night and the decisions made by drunken synapses run supreme. It exists where it should not and like an open sore it festers there. The people who frequent it are vapid, aggressive, sex crazed, shameless, and blind.
And goddamn if I don’t wish I could be one of them again. Continue reading