Content note: alcohol.
If you had told me a few months ago that soon I would spend most of my days cooped up inside, with none of my usual haunts and few of my usual habits available to me, I would’ve mourned book shops, theatres, and beloved sushi joints. I would have wept preemptively for the loss of long springtime walks through bustling streets, and eager journeys across national borders. I would not necessarily have thought to cry about bars.
But bars, I must confess, are what I miss the most about The Time Before – other than the safety, calm, trust, and optimism I had then that I (and much of the world) can no longer access.
I’m talking about bars here, you understand – not drinks. I can have drinks at home any time I like, and since my cocktail-whiz partner is staying with me and we’ve expanded my modest “home bar,” the drinks I can have at home are pretty damn good. No, what I miss is the atmosphere of a bar. The people. The process. The ritual. The vibe.