I stepped off the train a few stops early. Quickly crossing out of traffic to the sidewalk, I snatched a look at the sky. No rain yet. That’s something at least. I hooked my umbrella on my arm, shrugged my bag higher on my shoulder and set off down the street.
A block later I stepped into my pub. Bag dropped in a chair, umbrella, leaned against a wall, MacBook Air and notebook set out on the table, I turned and stepped up to the bar.
The bartendress greeted me with a smile and a question. “Mirror Pond and a pint of water, no ice?”
“Yeah, that’d hit the spot, thanks.”
Money was exchanged for goods and services before I returned to my table, two glasses in hands. I placed them ever-so-carefully onto the rickety old pub table. From experience I knew that the tiniest bump will rock the table and baptize the MacBook with ale. Glasses successfully placed, I had a seat, opened the computer and added another productive two and a half hours to my work day.
When I moved to my new place I didn’t realize I’d end up with a second living room a few blocks down the street. The first time I wandered into my pub I felt at home. It’s somewhat dingy, filled with threadbare couches and mismatched chairs, but endearing the in same way as your favorite falling-apart-but-still-beloved jeans. That there’s decent beer on tap is secondary to how comfortable the space is. Add to that some free wifi and good dart boards and it’s amazing I’m not there more frequently than I already am (which is about once a week, if you’re curious). I’ve gotten more work done and had more enchanting conversations here than I have at any place since I left school.
It’s such a cozy and satisfying feeling, having a place like this. I love my little pub and look forward to whiling away many more hours here in the years to come.