The bartender went over to the jukebox and put on some Commodores. Ken encouraged me to talk to her and the other people sitting around us, but I felt an overwhelming sense of not belonging. It was strange, and sudden. Will this always happen if I don't drink when I go out? Or was it because I was in a neighborhood bar that wasn't in my own neighborhood?
"I want to go," I said to Ken — my rescuer, my limo driver, my mover, my friend. He didn't want to leave without meeting people first, but he could see that I was anxious. I wasn't in the mood for the forced camaraderie that comes from drinking. I wanted something real. Something ... like Ebn Ozn being played really loud over Ken's speakers.
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We left a big tip and nodded to everyone as we walked out. I hoisted myself into Ken's car and pulled up some Jimmy Cliff: "Many Rivers to Cross."
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