Friday night in Phoenix

Sam called the restaurant and they said it would be an hour-and-a-half wait. I went upstairs to shower. As I was drying off, my phone rang. It was Sam. He said, “I drove up to the restaurant and put our names down. They’ll seat us at 8:30.” I pulled the phone away from my ear to look at the clock. It said 6:56 PM. “Want to pick up some beers on your way back?” I asked. “Then we can drink here before we go.”

When Sam got back, he had a 4-pack of IPAs and a 32-ounce growler of sour. He poured IPAs into glasses for me and him. Then he poured some sour for Angie. We listened to music and shared what we knew about the lives of the artists. 

In the backseat of the car on the way to the restaurant, I could feel the effect of the beer as a warm cushiony softness behind my eyes. My whole body felt good, felt lighter. I looked out the window at the porch lights and the storefront signs passing by in the dark. 

Our waitress was beautiful. The drinks were small but strong. The rib eye was a quarter of a cow and still bleeding. 

Back home, we heated water in the electric kettle for tea. We sat at the dining table and drank tea and watched videos on our phones. I was the first to say I was ready for bed. I climbed the stairs and now I’m under the covers with my head on the pillow.