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Crying In the Juice Box

Empty Astros Game

You saw me crying in the chapel
The tears I shed were tears of joy
I know the meaning of contentment
I am happy with the Lord

Over nearly 10 years of being legal drinking age, when I was trying to think of places to go get drinks, I had a different set of criteria than a lot of other people my age. For most folks in their 20s, they’re looking for the hippest, trendiest bar in town where they have a chance to see and be seen.

I tended to seek out the place with the least amount of people, while still being among the sort of people I felt comfortable with. In Houston, this meant avoiding Midtown at all costs. Big Star had a cool back area and the best jukebox in town. Lola’s was cheap and seldom crowded, but perhaps too dive-y. Once Cecil’s Monday night prices for wells and Lone Stars skyrocketed from $1 to $1.50, enough people stopped coming to make it comfortable. Plus, it being an old haunt of Bill Hicks lent it an extra bit of allure.

There was another place in Houston I could go during that time, that I always knew would offer me a peaceful, quiet evening. No exorbitant door charge, no packs of annoying yuppies elbowing me out of the bartender’s field of vision. Beer prices were a bit high, but at least you got to keep the neat souvenir cup it came in. Continue reading

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