So Kyle and I went out last night. We emailed throughout the day to try to figure out a good meeting spot. We finally decided to meet up, per his suggestion, at the Subway Inn. I got there first. The neon sign flashed inappropriately in the late-afternoon sunlight. It was hot and sticky and the bar looked like a shit hole. Luckily we were just “meeting there” and then finding “another place.”  Kyle was a couple minutes late. Even though I’d been avidly looking in all directions, Kyle managed to sneak up on me.
 
He was wearing some sort of trench coat. I remind you- it’s summer and humid as hell on the bustling streets of mid-town. He had shaggy hair, a full beard (untrimmed), and towered over me like a giant weed. So yeah, not the first category of Punk guyI was hoping for.  I went to shake his hand and he went for the cheek kiss. We laughed a little at our mishap and I noticed that beneath the rough mass of hair and odd clothing sat two very beautiful well-lashed eyes. A great personality might have made the date worthwhile.

Before I could suggest walking uptown to find a bar, Kyle made a hasty move toward the door of the Subway Inn. “Oh, did you want to go here? I thought we were just meeting here an-” I started to ask. “Are you serious?” He interrupted, pointing inside. “Have you seen this place?” I admitted that I hadn’t actually looked inside and peeked my head in. It was barely lit and smelled like ancient booze. Flies buzzed around the naked light bulb in the entrance. Before I could display proper disgust, Kyle had changed his mind about finding a nicer spot. Seeing it “wasn’t crowded yet inside” the Subway Inn, he expressed interest in getting a booth.

I followed him past the bar in disbelief, as every overweight and disheveled 40-something man looked at me hungrily over the foam of his happy hour draft. I couldn’t believe the old haunt ever drew a big crowd. Kyle swung into the first booth we passed and I slid in across from him and tried to regain my composure. Apparently oblivious to the change in my demeanor, he grinned and told me he loved dive bars like this. In the same motion he took out his phone and handed me some cash. “Get me a rum and coke and get something for yourself too, I have to make a phone call.” I played off my annoyance well and ordered us two drinks. I decided on a Heineken.

The next part of the date was relatively normal. He had a slight paralysis on the left side of his face, which was just distracting enough for me to lose my train of thought periodically. He mumbled when he spoke and seemed to have a minor hearing problem. Therefore the majority of the conversation on both ends was heavily laden with “what?” and involved leaning across the grimy table.
More on this later. I need to take a break from reliving that hellish night.