last Friday night: Cole’s

"tamale guy for alderman"

I think this is a campaign everyone can get behind.

I spotted this graffiti in the ladies room at Cole’s. Cole’s is a bar in Logan Square that has cheap beer, a pool table, and a back room for bands to play in.

Officially, I was at Cole’s to see a band featuring a college pal of mine, Jacinda, and Joe’s. Unofficially, I was there to gossip with Jacinda on a rare night out for the both of us together. I figured if she and Joe could find a sitter (read: grandma, who lives two blocks away from Cole’s) then the least I could is put on some pants and meet them for a drink.

The band we were there to see didn’t go on for a while, so we killed time in the front, standing around and talking. We stood between two tables, sort of blocking one of them from the rest of the room. This table featured two women in their twenties, who had that sort of look in their eyes as if to say “I am on the pull tonight but I’m trying not to look like I am.”

One of these ladies wore a black top with a deep v-neck. They both scanned the room when they could, which was not often, as Joe had a habit of always standing right in their sight line whenever they wanted to check out the crowd. Eventually, they got up to leave and as they walked out I wanted to say “I’m sorry you brought your cleavage out for nothing.” but I didn’t think that sentiment would be received particularly well. Even if I did have, as ever, the best of intentions.

Down by the end of the bar we spotted a man with longish gray hair, standing at the bar, thumbing through a book. Jacinda identified the book as a translation of Anna Karenina by its cover. Closer to us a group of twentysomethings jumped all over each other while drinking beers. A girl who had ratted up her hair before putting it up into two pigtails was enthusiastic (read: almost tripping over herself so she would fall onto her guy friends), but her friend in the vintage red dress, white tights, and boots was lithe and graceful in comparison.

Once our friend’s band got going, Jacinda and I moved away from the stage so the speakers/monitors/whatever musicians call them would not destroy our ears. Someone offered me some cotton stuffing, and I accepted it. Yes, I was the thirtysomething lady with cotton in her ears, drinking a gin and tonic on a wobbly barstool. This is perfectly fine with me.

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Filed under Chicago, nightlife, personal

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