Saturday nights


Saturday nights are always riddled with questions. Should we order in or cook? Should we watch a movie at home or go out for one?

We decided to head out. The first wave of Spring had hit the town. Everyone, as if in obeisance to the new season, shed their jackets, and marched the streets in soft cotton shirts. At City Tap House, the bartenders filled one glass after another with chilled beer and handed it to youngsters, who sipped and licked their lips now full of beer foam. Then, in unison, they looked up at the television right above the bartender. A college basketball game was on. We stood waiting for our beers, while the crowd around us, as if rehearsed, cheered and booed together. The Tap House extended beyond the four walls, into a space overlooking the streets of Philadelphia. There we stood, watching people talk; words had begun to slur for some. Empty beer glasses, stacked one on on top of the other, grew into small pillars. With it grew the night and the noise.

Should we stay back or head home? Should we grab dinner at a Thai place or a Greek one? Saturday nights are always riddled with questions.

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