Oakland Footloose

By the time Coop and I showed up at Molly's office, we were already three sheets to the wind. After the Uber driver dropped us off (back at Coop's car), we killed more time---an hour or so, in the Stork Club, a cozy lounge just a block away on foot.

This place was vintage rough-edge Oakland club scene---band stickers all over the wall---although Coop said it was the third incarnation of the club. He and his band had played at the second Stork Club back in the day. We sat at the bar, the only drinkers there, since it was early in the afternoon, and discussed the history of the club with the bartender, a strapping half-bouncer type. He had an ambitious bend, saying he wanted to go into to graphic design. When I told him I lived in Portland, he said he wanted to move there.

I challenged him to make his best cocktail, and he came back with a simple vodka and soda in a plastic cup. I told him "that counts," with an encouraging tone, but when the next round came up I demanded he use three ingredients.

Then somehow Coop and I wound up downtown, and I checked into the Clarion on 13th with my bags. Then we walked over to partake in an early happy hour at the Tribune Tavern, which is located in the Tribune Tower, one of Oakland's historic landmark buildings. The place was packed with an after work crowd, ones who had beat the five o'clock rush to the first round. We drank beer next to a group of two dozen guys of varying age, all wearing similar dark suits. They were toasting mightily. We discerned it was the staff of a law firm who had just scored a major victory and were celebrating.

When five o'clock rolled around we picked up Molly next door and went to dinner---where exactly I don't quite remember, but it was good to get some chow in my belly.

At some point in the evening, Elisabeth showed up.