I like George, the affable Greek owner of the Front Page Bar, the watering hole whose tender embrace we sought when fabulous Willow shuttered i’s thick mahogany doors two years ago. Spirit of the season, I had to go to the UPS Store just up the block a week or so ago. Things for the grandkids, shipping small arms ammunition, you know. The usual holiday stuff.

I got lucky and found a space in front of the Front Page, and walked through the bar on the way to the car. George was there, doing something with the books, and he did not give me the usual warm greeting. I wondered about that. He is usually pretty outgoing.

There were none of our playmates there, and I did not expect them to be. Some people have to work, you know? Arriane the day bartender was there, and he served me, but it was a strange anti-climax. UPS would not ship the ammunition unless I dragged my butt and the box down to the central hub in Alexandria, so I parked my old lady cart next to the stool and relaxed. I looked around the rich dark wood of the bar and the dozen-odd flat-screens that serve to keep the drunks occupied.

I had one drink- no kidding- and then shook my head and went home to peck on the computer.

I may have mentioned that I had determined to clean up my act a little. I had thought it through. Happy Hour five days a week and no one to yell at me when I got home was precious. Plus, we had some of the greatest pals ever, and that made for an exciting week. Couple that with the hurly-burly of business right across the street made life interesting. At least until Willow closed, and what had been a work and social hub disappeared. It was the loss of a family in a way.

I decided it was time to just stay home. Well, mostly.

After the tragedy of Willow’s demise, surrender was not an option. We would find another place, and gather to share stories of the Day That Was. We took the bit in the teeth, and interviewed several bars as candidates for an oasis to which we might flee. The last two candidates standing, based on an objective assessment of their ability to serve low-calory additives to the alcohol were the Lyon Hall establishment in Clarendon and the Front Page. I used to work across the street from Willow, so driving to where the bars were was a condition of employment. Other members of the gang lived right there, and walking distance is a powerful factor in choice of watering holes.

It really wasn’t that much different for me to drive to Clarendon- but the majority of the Refugees were closer to Front Page. So that is where we wound up.

There were not a great number of alternatives, since whatever is happening to the Ballston neighborhood appears contagious Ted’s Montana had closed in their spectacular central location. Green Turtle and Applebees died due to their location across Glebe Road. No person in their right mind would want to go over there in rush hour traffic and parking sucked. Car Pool died after decades of twenty-something mirth and billiards. They will be digging for the multi-level underground parking soon for whatever is coming next, assuming the finances work out.

Front Page was traditional, a little raffish, and just fine.

Anyway, with the National Science Foundation moving out of the building and the mall across the street being demolished for wonderful things to come, naturally we were concerned about what was going to happen with the loss of prospective clients, what George was going to do with the place. He had sold the strip club down in Springfield the year before, just this time of year, and I feared that our Front Page was going to get shuttered as well.

Jon-Without was willing to come out, and we are both limiting ourselves to a couple Happy Hours a week, Mondays are a special day. Low traffic, mostly, and the Friends and Family night tradition that migrated from Rock Bottom when that fine establishment shut down a couple years ago. Union Jack, just two doors down, didn’t survive, either.

We agreed Monday would be a good night to meet, and there we were. Brian- Coach to his pals- was behind the bar. I slid into my usual stool and smiled. There was a fair amount to catch up on, and the crowd at the bar wasn’t so needy that he could not chat. He looked at me with a sly grin and said: “You want the good news or the bad news first?”

“Good news. Tell me you have diet tonic. I have not been a good customer lately and I don’t expect you to keep it in stock if nobody but me is drinking it.”

He smiled and came up with a bottle of the cheap tonic they sell at CVS across the street. He made me the usual, with a wedge of lime and lemon on the rim of the short glass. I grinned at the good news. “So what is the bad news?” I said, thinking about all the bad crap everywhere going down all around us.

“Front Page closes on the 30th,” Brain said, knowing this fact since the meeting at noon at which he, and everyone else in the place, was told they would be out of a job in a couple weeks. This was slowly settling in as Jon-Without came in and sat down on the wobbly stool next to me.

“Vic, what’s happening?” he said. I don’t think he was referring to my fresh haircut, or anything except the local lunacy.

“Brian has something to tell you,” I said enigmatically, and contemplated the loss of another swell place. I may rethink my happy hour options for this Holiday Season and start going again while there is time. How many times does one have to be an exile. Where next?

Copyright 2017 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com