It's 5:30 pm on a Friday and I'm stepping out of the shower. I've just finished washing off the last bit of paint smell, testy insurance reps, and belligerant customers. The work week is over and the next two and a half days are mine.

I go to my favorite sushi restaraunt and sit down at the bar. Not an alochol bar. A fish bar, I guess? The chefs know me by face but not by name. They smile and barely sorta bow and I order the same thing I always order. I imagine them being disapointed that I never branch out and try something new. My feeling, though, is if I'm eating raw fish, I'm gonna do it on my terms. The food is good and the waitress makes sure my glass is never empty. It's all very Rockwellian in a way - if Rockwell ever painted pictures of sushi restaraunts.

Once I'm done eating I get in my truck, roll down the window and head downtown. I drive past rows of college housing. Frat boys are out in their yards playing a game called Cornhole where you throw bean bags at holes in a piece of wood. I suppose the bags are actually filled with corn, not beans, hence the name. The sun is still out and it's a beautiful evening. All the patios of the downtown restaraunts are full of yuppies, and couples, and yuppie couples. It's the mating season and they're all decked out in their finest khaki plumage and peforming complex coupling rituals. I meet my friend Paul at our favorite Irish Pub. We walk in the front door together and we're greeted by the bartender. His name's Mike and he's a great guy. The pub is empty except for a couple of regulars who, by all appearances, never really leave. Mike shoots the breeze with us for a few minutes. He calls me his "priest" because he knows I used to be a minister. He asks me to pray for him and I say I will. Paul and I take a seat on the patio. We drink a beer and talk about our days. The street in front of the pub is busy in spite of the fact that the work day is over. A couple of homeless people ask us for money. We give them some cash and tell them to take care of themselves. If I can I always give homeless people money, because if I was homeless I'd want people to give me money.

Our married friends Bryan and Stephanie show up. They live close enough that they can walk to the pub. I'm envious. Stephanie hugs me and calls me, "Pattymelt." She's the only person in the world allowed to do that. Bryan says "Hi" and makes fun of my shirt. Lots of people in the world do that, unfortunately. The sun's starting to set and Mike's getting busier behind the bar. An endless stream of sorority girls, dolled up for a night at the clubs, walk the sidewalks outside the pub. They're dressed to get notice. Paul and I try not to disapoint them.

The night wears on and the four of us are having fun and laughing a lot. Bryan and Stephanie both teach spanish at the local college. Occasionally one of their students will walk into the pub and see their professor sitting on the patio having a beer. The students get this look on their faces like they've been caught doing something wrong. Stephanie's embarassed for them but she's having fun with it. She starts talking in spanish. She does this when she's having a good time. Unfortunately, Bryan is the only one at the table who understands her. She does teach me a few spanish curse words, though. There's some crazy girl going on and on about Manitees at the next table. It's a little annoying but she's cute and looks good in her skirt, so we let it go. The bartender, Mike, comes outside to take a break. He ask Bryan and Stephanie the same question every time he sees them, "How's married life?" Every time you see Mike he's talking about a different girl, but you get the feeling maybe he'd like to settle down some day.

It's starting to get late and the pub is packed now. It's not as fun when it's packed. There's more to see, sure, and more people to talk to, but it's also harder to get around or to get Mike's attention. The four of us decide it's time to leave. We don't go far. Two buildings down is a restaraunt. It's open all night and kind of famous on campus. If you tell them it's your first time eating there they ring a bell and announce to everyone that you're a virgin. It's been a long time since that word applied to the four of us as far as the restaraunts concerned. We all order burgers and fries. Somebody knocks their water glass over onto my burger, effectively ruining it. I'm really, really sad about it. Since I can't eat now, I amuse myself by making fun of some college kids who, apparently, just got out of some formal sorority dance. I ask them how the prom was. They're not amused.

Once everyone else has eaten we all head our seperate ways. I take the long way home. I drive past a local music venue and see all the hipster kids outside smoking. There's no smoking inside now thanks to the city-wide ban, so sidewalks are always packed with kids getting their nictone fixes. I feel sorry for them in the winter, but at least you don't go home smelling like smoke at the end of the night anymore.

Some people's nights are beginning as mine is ending. There are still long lines of people waiting to get into a dance club. Cop cars roll out of the local precinct as a new shift begins. A city bus rolls past me with a half a dozen faces lining the windows. I don't know where they're going but none of them look happy about it.

I roll into my driveway and yawn as I get out of my truck. I walk into my side yard and "water the grass." The toilets in my house all work, but going in the yard after a night out has become a tradition that I can't really explain. Before going in for the night, I sit down on my front step and take note of how peaceful my neighborhood is this time of night. I also notice I need to mow my grass. Maybe if I wait long enough my neighbors will do it for me.

With that, I head upstairs, get undressed, and climb into bed. It was a good night. It was every friday night I've ever had and no friday night in particular and it all took place in a town that I love. Goodnight, everybody.