Wednesday, November 2, 2011


She was a tall, cool drink of water, sitting at the end of the bar, sipping her drinks like she meant it. Whiskey. Rocks. No water. I counted four, but she had been there all night, looking like she was waiting for someone to pick her up. Not your typical broad. This girl was smart and she could handle her liquor. Twelve different chumps tried their luck. Twelve different chumps walked away, looking like their first puppy just got run over by a garbage truck. Poor bastards didn't know what hit 'em. But I was different. I was lucky number 13.

Of all the seedy little gin joints in all the seedy little towns, she had to walk into mine. Well, technically, I walked into hers. But I wasn't there to play games. And I wasn't one of those poor fools who couldn't pick up a dame if she was in a box and he had a forklift. They were about as likely to get lucky with that dame as I was to win the lottery twice on a Tuesday.

Not one to lollygag, I walked right up to her, turned to the bartender and said "two whiskeys, rocks." Then I turned to her and said, "what's a broad like you doing in a place like this?" That was when I noticed her throat. Her adam's apple was twice as big as my thumb, and s/he had the hands to match it. Sasquatch doesn't have hands that big and hairy. She/he said, "hey stranger," with a voice deeper than James Earl Jones with laryngitis after a three day bender.

Now I don't know if it was the smoke-filled room, the dingy lighting, or the eight whiskeys, but he was the best looking woman in that bar. And once you make your move, there's no going back. Thank God we were in the Castro. This was going to take some more drinks.

But I wasn't in that bar to pick up on loose women or pretty men. I was there on the job. The AlphaBar crew hired me to investigate every bar in the city with an L in its name. Well, they might have asked me only to go to the ones that started with an L, but I'm as thorough as a TSA agent on a muslim when I'm on the job. So I hit them all. And Lucky 13 was the best bar in that wretched little town. The best looking men, the strongest women, and the cheapest beer.

So we'll be heading down to Lucky 13 this Wednesday, packing that place like a Justin Bieber concert in a pedophile colony. And that friendly gentleman with the pouty lips knew the bartender, so (s)he got us some damned fine drink specials. I personally will be drinking more whiskey than a tribe of Indians who just finished a death march. Here's looking at you kid.

Wednesday, November 9th @ 8PM
Lucky 13
2140 Market St
between Church St & Sanchez St