It’s night already and I’m trying to convince A. to ride with me in the big wheel standing in front of us – an inglorious effort considering it’s around closing time.
We choose to wander, then. There are many pedestrian streets in the city Center and a hidden fervor made of music, games and cocktails that is almost palpable. A. takes me to Rough Trade. Some years ago it would be unimaginable to walk out with no record in my hands. The place is cosy and breathes music. I manage to get out with only 2 postcards – one is a souvenir for me, the other’s for A.. Somehow we need to have a material proof of this moment.
The pizza place is having a quiz night about cinema, and the first questions are about Finding Dory – which I thought was a pun until A. asks me if I saw the movie. We’re clearly in no shape to win the game and pizza’s paid for anyway, so we leave for a nice pub, the Brewdog.
– I want to take you somewhere else – she states.
She stops in front of a boilermaker store and walks in, saying she needs to check on those. I shrug and follow her not complaining. The man behind the counter says something and they walk us to what looks like a toilette, but the hand washer moves and we walk inside a bar.
We’re at The Boilermaker, a speakeasy pub in all of it’s splendor. The decoration, the cocktails names and the music blend in this atmosphere that takes us to deep laughs and heavier words.
Between the War and Peas cocktails and the gin’s, the matters on table are everything we’ve been avoiding so far. Not from each other, but from ourselves. We’re behind the scenes. And that’s where my words to A. will remain.
How good are the words we speak when we chose to live as if we never felt them?…