There were three immediate problems when we entered the People’s Republik, having just washed down Mass. Ave. from the Plough. The draught lines were down, the place had darts, and Jim was already there waiting for us. Having no draughts meant trying to find something in bottle that wouldn’t cast ridicule on anyone, while the darts were more of a theoretical problem; not an immediate issue, but a tool by which friends could quickly devolve in to enemies. And Jim had called Kumar on our short walk to the bar, so we had been warned of his presence, but it was still a shock to face the realization that we had no choice but to deal with him, considering things had been relatively smooth before then.
“Hey, what’s with all this commie shit? And what took you fucking pinkos so long,” Jim yelled from the other side of the square bar that took up the middle of the dim room. The bar looked like it had room for about twenty-five patrons.
“Time to swill! And look, they have darts,” Jim gestured with his bulbous Red Stripe at the Plexiglas protected darts area behind him.
John strode towards Jim, mouthing his drink order at the punky barkeep, and replied, “So I hear your sister’s here? Where is that sly fox?” And things just crumbled down around us from that point onwards.
Given Jim’s proximity to the darts, the bar was relatively unoccupied around him so our group managed to spread itself out like a suppurating wound, Kumar and Nate setting themselves up with the darts, John and Jim trading stories like old friends, and Aaron gazing angrily at the incapacitated tap handles. Little John was nowhere to be seen. Beyond the fake wood Formica bar top, and the eerie red glow cast by the tube lights under the bar, the surly bartender approached and asked us what we wanted. With the taps down, which would have consisted of about twelve with Magic Hat’s HiPA, Circus Boy, and Odd Notion, as well as a Harpoon seasonal, I was a bit non-plussed and decided to throw down with Jim and have a bottle of Red Stripe. There were about nine bottles/cans with PBR (spelled “ribbin” on a chalkboard) and Duvel among them. Aaron just shook his head, and said, “Well all right, an opportunity to do a little rubbing of the shoulders with the proles,” shoving his arm out at the whole bar, nearly clipping John, “how appropriate.”
“Oh, shut the hell up, Karl, and drink some fucking beer,” Jim replied around John’s back, eying Aaron a little crazily. Aaron took his beer and went off to sulk over at the darts while Nate sidled up to get drinks in for he and Kumar. Over all, the place had a dark feel, with black and red hues the main motifs. Soviet-era posters and some Che Guevara stuff grew like mold on the greasy walls, while a large bomb hung from the rafters near the street windows. Nate pointed at the tail end of a piñata that had been attached to the wall opposite us.
“Jim,” John asked sipping from his Manhattan, “where the heh-ell is your sister?”
“Oh, she’s going to meet up with us later in Central Square with a bunch of her friends. They’re getting shit-plowed at the Phoenix right now,” Jim answered, looking at the piñata. “I wonder if that thing still has candy in it,” he said and got up from his stool.
Kumar had wandered over from the darts, giving up his spot to Little John who had come out of the bathroom. His eyes widened slightly at the news of Jim’s sister and he gulped down the rest of his Sam Adams like a wheezing consumptive, quickly ordering another. He plunked down next to me and started nervously shredding the label off the bottle.
“Shit, I may have to bypass that whole thing,” he said watching Jim. “But he’ll never let me go, so I just have to keep an eye on what she’s saying when he’s around.” I just shrugged, glad that I wasn’t in Kumar’s shoes. The bar was pretty full by this time, with John talking up some grizzled, older locals next to him. Along with the insiders there were a good number of up-and-comers trying to make their mark on the world, and each other, but for the most part the scene was pretty low key with the turned down lights and sedate décor. Really, the only reason why I would consider returning was if it was a pit-stop on a crawl, which was in essence what it was being utilized for this night, as the tap lines did not distinguish themselves, and I am not sure I would trust the food coming out of the kitchen; I like to be able to see what I am eating. Fine for a quick beer and some local color though.
“Umm,” Aaron came up and tapped my shoulder. “I think it might be time to go,” he said and pointed at the Plexiglas. Little John and Nate were reenacting the visiting room scene from Midnight Express, with Little John’s shirt pulled up, his chest pressed against the Plexiglas, while Nate pretended to lick from the other side. Yep, definitely time to go. As I hauled everyone towards the exit, an angry growl escaping from John’s lips, I saw Jim leaping above the crowd trying to hit the piñata with an umbrella. If there was candy in there, by god, Jim was going to get it.