Not so fine a night…

June 7, 2007, 11:39 am
Filed under: Life Happens

Yesterday after work, with no plans in the works – Nick is in London on business, I dropped by a friend’s place to watch a scary movie. I warned him that I don’t handle them well, which he brushed off. The movie, a straight to video deal (I don’t remember the name, how pathetic am I?), made me scream and curl up into a ball on the couch every 5-10 minutes, and made him roll his eyes approximately the same amount of times.

After the movie I was amped up, and just about to walk home and try not to pee myself on the way back, when my phone rang. My friend and his friend were having a drink and a bite to eat at the restaurant on my block, and did I want to join? Sounded better than a dark apartment to me, and I never say no to this place…it’s a charming, upscale Italian joint, but laid back enough to show up at whenever the mood strikes. I dragged along my very tired movie compatriot, and we had a few drinks and munchables. To my disappointment, it was Fedora Bartender’s night. He tends to ignore me, and act a little haughty whenever I even look the least bit cheery. Still, we took a table after one drink, so I dealt with him less than usual. I think I got home around 11:30?

I had trouble sleeping, and around 1AM, had to get up, annoyed, and pull my shades all the way down because police lights kept flashing in my windows. This isn’t terribly uncommon in my neighborhood, although it’s never a dangerous situation…see, we have this weird project housing for chronic alcoholics a few blocks away…it’s basically a place to get people off the streets into a place where they can die quietly. Awful, but I’ve very rarely seen any of the tenants, and the ones I have seen are usually very nice and very sad. It breaks my heart. So the ambulances, they’re not so uncommon.

Turns out the flashing police lights? Were because Fedora Bartender was shot resisting a robbery attempt on my favorite little neighborhood restaurant, about an hour and a half after two of the boys walked me home.

I’m glad I gave Fedora Bartender a bigger tip than I usually do, for actually paying attention to me for once. I feel slightly less guilty for making fun of him just hours before he got shot.