From selling floor to the slam, from cubicle to podium. Where to go in between? Happy hour!
As a poor poet, my dinners were usually eaten at my kitchen able, as were breakfasts. Lunches were brown bagged, unless the current employment powers that be popped for an occasional pizza party or barbecue. But what happens when you want to catch a poetry reading relatively soon after work? Poor poets likely haven’t the cash flow to treat themselves to downtown dinners. There may be no time to stop home, but you don’t want your stomach to growl and be heard over the P.A. system during your reading at an open mic.
Happy hours at the local pub/grill can make the joyful transition between you and hunger on those nights you can’t and don’t want to hurry home to eat. When the poetic muse of the night calls and you don’t want to accept the invitation in a cranky mood from lack of calories, you may find yourself at an outdoor café noshing tidbits to hold you over, watching the urban hoopla whisk by. Better yet, look for citified venues also situated by a river, lake or ocean that offer happy hours. During your brief, but happy, respite, you’ll be front row to the exact same views residents in apartments above pay dearly for.
Happy hour! When else can you get 10-cent chicken wings, dollar tacos or burgers, $2 bar bites or beers, and even $3 complete meals? The bewitching happy hours start around 4 or 5 p.m. on certain nights of the week, sometimes every week night, depending on the establishment, and clocks onward from there. Find yourself there, poor poet!