Yesterday marked the 80 year anniversary of the Prohibition Repeal. If ever you needed an excuse to drink, that was it. On top of that I knew that Good Life was having a DJ night, and on top of that my cousin Josh, who now lives in California, was in town. The combination of these three things turned what would usually be a pathetic display of a 24-year-old sitting at home alone watching TV, into a night to remember.
We started our adventure early, getting to the train by around 8pm. I knew that the DJ didn’t start until 9:30, but a) I like to be early for things anyway, and b) I wasn’t sure if Good Life was going to get packed, so I wanted to make sure we got in. Upon arrival, the capacity of the bar was perhaps only slightly above average and was filled with the usual decently well dressed after work crowd. Josh and I grabbed drinks and then found a table in the corner by the door to sit and chat at.
As we conversed I noticed the crowd thinning. At the bar, right in my path of vision, was a couple not 10 feet away from us. I kept looking over because I thought I recognized the guy. His (essentially) bald haircut combined with a decent but tame beard was unmistakable. The name “Chris” kept repeating in my head. I began to think that this was perhaps one of the guys I used to work with while interning at the Phoenix.
Hating not knowing or remembering people’s names, and not wanting to approach him and just say “Chris?” or “The Phoenix?” I decided to Google a story I knew the guy I was thinking of had written. I Googled “rapture bus boston phoenix” and sure enough, the first hit was the article I was thinking of, written by none other than Chris Faraone.
Now armed with a first and last name, I got up from my table and walked over. “Excuse me, sorry to interrupt, Chris Faraone?” he looked over, “Kyle DeStefano, I interned at the Phoenix.” Sure enough it was him and after an awkward handshake/hug type thing, Josh and I ditched our table and joined Chris and his girlfriend at a pair of empty seats adjacent to theirs at the bar.
We began to catch up and talk about all sorts of shit. Chris even caught onto the fact that we’re poor or just cheap and bought us a round. After a bit of chatting, we made our way downstairs to where the DJ was. Unfortunately, just as the bartender upstairs had told us it would be, it was dead. Chris, his girlfriend, Josh, myself, a couple of Chris’s other friends, and a few other girls were all that were down there.
Josh and I finished our drinks and, after chatting with one of the bartenders ([something] McNulty whom I knew because one of the other times I was there with Chris H and Peter, Pete chatted her ear off getting her to make him the “perfect cocktail”) and saying goodbye to Chris and his GF, Josh and I left.
My initial plan was to stay at Good Life all night, drinking, listening to the DJ and dancing. However, when it turned out that it was dead there, we decided to head over to Wally’s Cafe, a small Jazz club not two minutes away from the Mass Ave T stop.
A little backstory is that Josh and I had been to Wally’s the week previous. That night started out at The Beehive, but it was super packed there and thus we left after one drink. Josh, who had looked up other Jazz clubs, suggested we check out Wally’s.
It worked out fine but it sort of pissed me off as he is always doing stuff like this; going into something that he did not plan and selfishly changing or bending the plans to something that he wanted to do.
The same thing happen on the way into Boston last night. On the train he mentioned that Wally’s was having music again and that if we got sick of Good Life that we should go there. Again making back-up or alternate plans as if he knows mine will fail or doesn’t trust my decisions. I told him straight up that I didn’t want to go because I was planning on staying at Good Life. Plus, like I said, he was once again turning my plans, my night that I invited him to, into his night. However, as you’ll see we do go there, it works out, and we end up having a good time.
While making our way over to Downtown Crossing, we passed a homeless women sitting by Macy’s. “You guys have a light?” As a matter of fact I did, and in the spirit of the holiday, lit her cigarette. We then hopped on the train and took a short ride over to Mass Ave. We walked down to Wally’s and upon entering, were greeted buy a packed bar and blaring Latin music. I could tell Josh was happy and I got into it too, dancing a bit and sipping my fourth beer of the night. A lot for me at 110 pounds, I’m a light weight and as it was, the previous three beers were catching up to me.
On the way over we had agreed that we’d stay until around midnight, after which point we’d hop on the train, and take the Green Line over to my sister’s apartment in Brookline, to crash for the night. However, as we approached the zero hour, I could tell I was going to be taking the trip alone. Josh said he was having too much fun and that he wanted to stay. A friend of his lived [lives] not too far away and he figured he’d just walk there after the bar closed. I knew he would selfishly get his way once again, but, seeing as it didn’t effect my plans, I bid him farewell, and, after a few bro-hugs, I left.
Per my sister’s advice, I walked past the Orange Line stop, up Mass Ave to the Hynes station. Luckily, a short while after arriving at the station, a B-line train -the train I needed- arrived and I made my way to my sister’s apartment. After being let in and having some toast and water I went to bed. Not a bad way to celebrate the repeal of prohibition.