How to End a Day

I don't often get to come here. In fact I've only been in once before. Kind of strange since it's two doors down from my apartment.

The place is Creole. It's a restaurant that often feature live jazz acts during the week. There are two reasons I haven't been in much. One, they shut down before midnight whenever there's live music, meaning I'm usually home too late to enjoy it. Two, they almost always charge a cover.

But I'd come home from my friend's poetry theater show about the subway, black identity, and street culture a little before 11:30. My girlfriend was still uptown hanging out with some friends from her old work, and my friend and current couchsurfer would be out for another 45 minutes, likely getting into some kind of trouble. He was the one who actually showed me around town when I moved here, a couple days before he flew off to Cambridge to start on his PhD in biological anthropology.

What appeared to be a busboy tried to charge me a $5 cover fee before I asked how much longer they'd be playing for. When the guitarist pulled someone up for what he said was "one last song," the guy let me in for free. I got a beer from the bar, tipped the New York City unofficial regulation $1 for the $5 drink, and sat down to listen. That "last song" of course segwayed into another "last song" when they pulled another friend and musician from the audience. I kept sipping the beer.

This is pretty much exactly how I wanted the day to end, even if I didn't know it until I sat down.