100 Days of Writing - 05

My favourite bar in Montreal is Honey Martin's.  A small, dimly lit drinking hole on Sherbrooke street West, I spent many nights in my mid-to-late twenties there, drinking lagers and speaking to friends and new acquaintances loudly over the live music.

The narrow walls are covered in large paintings of boxers- the fighting kind.  There is ample dark, smooth wood surrounding the benches and bar, creating a warmth that makes this place so inviting.  More often than not, there would be old timers sitting at the bar, greeting each other with open arms and pats on the back.  There's a narrow staircase that leads to the basement off to the right, a place that must be dusty and cold.  On the opposite end of the bar, there is a door that sometimes swings open and a few times I've witnessed a husky or two run in- the dog kind, that is.

There is ornamental stained glass throughout, a snake pattern with golden tones and red ruby like stones breaking up the panes that adorns the top of the bar.  It feels old in there, and its small size lends itself to a wealth of stories.  You're sure to meet someone new each time you go; the seats are numbered and it fills up on weekends pretty early.

Regal wool coats, slicked-back hair and lowball glasses, French Canadian accents and guitar strings.

Questionable locks on the bathroom doors, Guinness posters and a hard-to-find ATM.

Good company.  Always good company. 

RIP Dad's Bagels.

I have many anecdotes about this place I hold so dearly, but tonight was an exercise in memory.  Hope I got that stained glass pattern right, geez. ;)

The Rumjacks,

Katie




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