Date 6 Guy 6

When you walk in and your feet peal off the floor at every step. The bar stools are so rough and cracked they would snag any material other than denim. The “lounge” furniture is a hodge-podge of miss-matched cast offs from a bad 70’s porno but you sit on it anyway while you wait for your turn at the dart board (or in my case my date to show up) and strike up a conversation with the 3 gals wearing too much makeup “slumming it” sitting at the booth next to you. The Regulars are a crew of two sitting over their beer in the darkest corner of the bar. They seem to embody both a hard life lived in the sun and one where they never saw the light of day- skin wrinkled, leathered and yet strikingly pale. The tv in the corner shows off season sports clips through the snow of a bad connection and the juke box is well stocked with rock ballads. The bartender greets you with a smile and if you stay long enough and tip well enough she will probably comp that last drink because you are now a familiar face.
There is something appealing about a dive bar and this happens to be one of my favorites.
Guy 6 is running late but because he has been calling every 5 min to make a joke about the reliability of muni or what a bad impression he’s making I’m willing to forgive his tardiness. After all, the ladies next to me are now starting to play a very entertaining game of quarters- I have agreed to serve as ref- how you referee a game of quarters is beyond me but that’s beside the point.
When he walks in he’s taller than I remember and just as cute, appropriately sheepish about being late and seems happy to see me- Guy 6 is Mr. Burly.
We belly up to the bar and order- the bartender seems relieved that I’m not here by myself- winks at me and smiles at Guy 6.
We chat and joke and I end up staying longer than I intended .
It was a good date.
And I got a few charming text messages the next day.
Maybe he had a good time too.