(no subject)

That smell of cigarette smoke and spilled beer, it sort of lingers, no matter how many time the night staff moves the hoover vac the worn red carpet with once white walls now stained a gentle nicotine cream.  That same 1960 green linoleum floors in the bathroom, just a little more cracked and faded then when they were first set.  A call out to a day and age when it was a valid decor choice to pick a green mint for any sort of interior design.  And the resistance to any change to that trend.

The muted blare of TVs playing that nightly sporting event, from basketball to baseball on those 24 inch 1999 throw backs bolted to the wall with the idea that they'd never become irrelevant. 

The Friday night hangout of both the middle aged and the teenage crowd.  There is something ketchy about chilling at the bowling alley, stealing pulls of cigarettes in the yellow lit parking lot, trying to con drinks from the bartender or some drunk old guy who doesn't give a fuck if you're 21 years old or not.

Two games down, bowling shoes rockin', sippin' on some ginger ale, she leans against a juke box with all the "oldies" for her to pick from.

B7 - King Harvest "Dancing on the Moonlight."

And she takes her and her drink to the group of her giggling friends that take a break from their game of pool in order to dance it up 1973 style.