Friday Night, Over Here

See that, over there? I used to be one of them before I moved over here. I used to live right there, in that apartment on the middle floor. That was mine. No kidding. I used to be part of the Friday night cocktail club for that’s what’s happening down below. Get home from work, shower, change into my best loafers and chinos, a nice polo shirt, then head down to Belinda’s and JJ’s with the ingredients for my cocktail of the week. That was the rule. Everybody in the building was welcome but you had to make a cocktail you’d never made before. Belinda or JJ would let you know what it was on Thursday morning. It was a sophisticated little scene. Finger food and Eighties music. ABC, Sade, Curiosity Killed The Cat – that sort of thing. Then, I lost my job, my car and my apartment, which to be honest was too expensive for what it was. Over here, quite literally on the other side of the tracks, I’m paying less than half of what I paid over there. Of course, I still don’t have a car and I couldn’t afford a cocktail even if I wanted one, which I don’t, because I’m strictly a barstool and beer guy right now, as you can see. Better company too. Why did I lose my job? See that woman on the left? It was just after eleven one Friday night when she developed an abscess. Of course, being the helpful dentist and always kind of liking her – she lived on the floor above me but at the back – I took her over to the surgery but – no, no, her friend drove. I was way over the limit. Far too drunk. I wonder what would happen if I crossed over there now. Not that I’d have any right to be admitted. It’s for residents only. You think I’m making this up? Just to get you to buy me a drink? Okay, then – I’ll prove it to you. Close your eyes and open wide. Don’t say ah.