North Beach.

I was driving from LA up to Northern California to visit my parents. About six hours in I came across the familiar and ever-enticing split on I-5 where you can either head north to the rice fields and Sacramento or west towards San Francisco. I hadn’t been to the city in a while and was in no hurry to get home and waste away on my parent’s couch, so at the last minute I swerved over in the direction of the Bay. I was driving a new car, so I stretched her out to 95 miles an hour while I called up Alan, a friend from college who I knew wouldn’t mind a surprise visit.

After swearing uncontrollably through an hour of traffic and wondering why drinking a martini while driving isn’t legal when you’re stuck at five miles an hour, I pulled up to Alan’s apartment, a swank rent-controlled place in North Beach. He knew how shitty the drive was, and thankfully whipped out refreshments quickly. We headed up to the roof of his building and relaxed in the crisp clear night. I hadn’t seen him in months, and it was good to catch up on the latest adventures we’d both had. Alan’s the type of guy that’s always excited to talk about interesting things and doesn’t shy away from drink. Usually a good man to have around for a long night.

After a pint or two of vodka tonics the glistening skyline ceased to be simply attractive and became a nagging reminder of our mutual desire to raise hell. We sat in his room trying to figure out where we’d head first. I’d been idly sending half-drunk texts when he burst up from behind his computer.

“Well there it is. I’ve got our destination.” His calm speech stood in stark contrast to the blazing excitement in his eyes. I stayed silent. “Let me break this down for you. There’s a band playing at a bar I really like kid of close to here. I’m looking at their picture right now.” He stopped again and started laughing uncontrollably. “Okay, so they’re called Barracuda. They say they play ‘rock and roll from the epic decades,’ but it seems they focus on the eighties. Holy god, they’re all over fifty, having jheri curls and are wearing leather pants. Oh, and their singer is a massive black dude who looks five feet tall.”

“Well, looks like we’re headed there.”