A Frog Plucking a Banjo

Last night, Mari and I headed up to Ballard, the Tractor Tavern, for Sara’s birthday. The doorman didn’t find our names on the guest list, but was sufficiently convinced when we invoked Sara’s name that he let us in without paying a cover.

Sara was nowhere in sight and, come to think of it, there were no familiar faces – just the staff and the band setting up. “Are we early?” I said. “Do we have the wrong night?” Mari said. When we were ordering our drinks a guy came up to us and told us, “Sara’s birthday is in two weeks.”

Mari and I sat in a booth and talked about her wedding, days past, and the Red Elvises. The bar filled up and we listened to the country music.

Categorized as Before