inarticulate sparkle.

I like the bar on the corner with the gravel parking lot, and the weathered yellow porch.

I like the shiny varnish on the bar that reflects the colorful laser lights from the middle aged DJ.

I like the bartender that is actually dating my ex fiancé, even though she tells him all about my visits.

I like that she will still pour my drink without asking.

I don’t like wearing jeans and fitted t-shirts, but I like how they look on me when I’m swaying in my seat to the 90’s dance hits.

I like how there’s an outside bar where patrons can bring their dogs and sit on damp picnic tables while they sip their Coors Light.

I want a tall, muscular, hairy man to sit on the stool next to mine, occasionally brushing against my leg with his.

I want whiskey and ginger ale in a translucent plastic cup, with a bendy straw, and a side of water.

I want to scroll down the Touch Tunes app until I find my favorite song, and I want to skip the dingdong that’s playing Morgan Wallen’s “I’m the problem.”

I’d order 10 sweet Thai chili wings, with ranch of course.

I would definitely not get up to dance, because I’m not “that” happy to be there, but I would do a cute little spin after i walked out the door, hand in hand with my favorite man.

I like this little biker bar, if it absolutely have to go out.