Another Taproom (Part 9)

 

It wasn't a taproom he had been in before, but he still felt familiar inside the industrial open concept warehouse that this much hyped Brewery was to be found. Those ridiculous steel stools that gave no comfort were to be avoided at all costs, he wasn't here for a quick pint and a talk at the bar, he wanted to go deep into whatever nonsense passed for a tap list and pretend it mattered on any scale. 

  Finding a small table near the back, he set down his coat and wandered to the bar to get a starter, something low ABV, maybe a Pale Ale or a Lager, and although the latter was becoming increasingly more popular, the quality often lagged behind. Leaning in, he could see the guy behind the taps was beyond his years after too many flights, questions of slight intelligence and the general malaise at an industry he got into with great enthusiasm, that now graded his work on an app he'd rather fell into the mash tun than exist another minute. A Dream of purpose and driven to bring his creations to market had been replaced by a need to pay the bills and brew the thing that was for the moment, that he may brew what he loved in the future. 

Seeing this face, our traveller ordered a pint of the Vienna Lager, surely an easy choice and a smart one, to begin his descent, slow and steady he always told himself. The man pouring was efficient, engaged in a patter he knew well and opened a tab so our weary drinker could find other things to fill his glass. 

  Settling in with a look of solace in rest, he took a small sip and pondered it's life. A balanced pint, it lacked nothing, simple malt bill, soft noted with a bitter finish that welcomed another quick tip back. It was satisfying, this overlooked, unhyped style, he knew the menu was geared towards what sold best, although they hadn't yet put a seltzer out, so at least that tiny fragment of the dream remained. He finished his first quickly and moved up the ABV scale in quick succession, becoming more relaxed as the third iteration of what seemed to be the same Hazy IPA rested in his hand. He had reached that 5th pint moment of clarity when the day that was began to fade into the night and the troubles of tomorrow dimmed into the remaining final sip of beer. This was when he felt real, felt whole, even though he knew it was what was also slowly destroying him, he could not look away, a train wreck at minute speeds proved no less damning than one hurtling down the tracks full speed. Gathering his things, he paid his tab, left a decent tip and stepped out front to wait for his ride, he was a practiced drunk, not a stupid one and never took a chance on something that would interfere in getting his next drink. He was outwardly happy and polite in public, never letting too many loosen his grip on a persona honed over decades of drinking. He knew he wasn't done with this day, but whatever he poured in his glass next would be done alone, away from a world he increasingly found difficult to navigate without the promise of oblivion when he navigated his way home again.