Irish Lies
Monday, April 20th, 2009
Nothing says Irish pub more than country music and teller windows.
It was late on Sunday afternoon and the shops in the Zona Rosa shopping district were closed when I came to a stop light. I’d never been in O’Dowd’s, but I was driving by looking for help wanted signs and the music was blaring out into the streets. I couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but it from what I’d heard, it seemed like there must be a party going on inside. No signs were in the windows. There weren’t any windows. Still, I decided it was worth a try, and turned onto a side-street to the nearest parking lot.
The spring winds had picked up and it flopped my hair to the opposite side and blew my collar up. I felt like James Dean in the iconic photo taken in New York, his hands shoved in his pockets and half-shrugging in the rain. I followed the music sound to the doors.
A guy was smoking outside. He wore khakis and a short-sleeved button up and looked like he should be a bible study, light a candle for everyone to sing around and tending to his sexless marriage. I took him for a dad, an unhappy one who’d settled for self-gratification a couple years into the marriage and had been praying for some ball slapping or something a little more unusual by their 10th anniversary. (more…)
