Most intimidating music
What they have in common isn't so much attributes, but a state of mind—you just know one when you see one.
And if I had to encapsulate precisely what this moment of recognition feels like, I'd do it through the eyes of an old soldier named Wayne, whom I encountered in a downtown Everett bar in the fall of 2008.
Playing pool was a middle-aged Latino fellow who confessed to having no recollection of how he'd gotten home from the bar the prior night.
After ordering another round of So Co, Wayne said that the reason he'd come to the Doghouse that Saturday afternoon was because he knew it would be exactly the way he remembered it the last time he'd been here some four years earlier.
He'd chosen the bar because it was reliable, a reminder of home that he could look forward to visiting again once his final tour ended.
I told him when that day came I'd meet him there, and buy us another round of shots.
With a few hours to kill before a Saturday-night rock show down the street, I sidled up to the bar at the Doghouse Tavern on Colby Avenue.
In the cooler were cans of Old Milwaukee and Schmidt (if there's a telltale sign you're in a dive bar, Schmidt's it).
Upon approach, this doesn't look to be the sort of bar that attracts mercurial street urchins, but that's exactly what it is.