Afternoon Happy Hour at Strawberry Lounge

"$1.50," the bartender says.

"$1.50?," I repeat, peeling off two dollars.

"Mhmm." She sets a Coors Light in front of me. The bottles are lined up on the bar like bowling pins.

I am clearly not at a Center City bar. I have been drawn into Strawberry Lounge at 29th and Fletcher at around 3 p.m., by two older gentlemen in checked button-down shirts. All they had to do was nod hello.

"Coors are $1.50 on Wednesdays," Uncle Jimmy tells me, "Tomorrow, they'll be two bucks and a quarter."

I'll take it. He sits to my right and proceeds to out-drink me. His friend, who would not lend me his name, has shied away to the corner of the bar. He gazes into his rum and Coke by the light of the television. It's some Jamie Foxx movie.

I wanted to know what it was like in here. It's any bar, the only difference down to drinking preferences.

"This used to be Debbie's Bar," Uncle Jimmy continues. This is the same man who swore he wouldn't tell me his name only five minutes ago. He has lived here since 1972 and has a black and white cat that follows him around, whether he's at the church or the bar. She might be pregnant.

"She been around here looking for you," the bartender mentions.

Are there other women in Jimmy's life? He nods at a woman in the corner, who is intently playing a bartop touch-screen game. "She calls me Uncle Gimme. Give you what, I say. I ain't got nothing for you."

Then he gives me his phone number.

"They say nobody reads that these days." I point to the rolled up Daily News that he has set on the bar.

"I do. I ain't got time for all that online business. I don't care much for computers."

A scuffle breaks out at the bar. I've seen my fair share of bar fights, but they were all between scrawny ex-bloggers who couldn't handle their lemonade. This was different.

A man called Rob shoots off his seat and attacks the man next to him. They shout at each other and push back and forth until Uncle Jimmy and the bartender rush over to mediate. I feel weird staring and try to act bored. It just gets louder and more threatening as the minutes go by.

Where was the calm Coors Light complacence that I'd stepped into initially?

Jimmy comes back. "No trouble. Rob just gets mad when anyone bumps his leg."


By Dennis Bovell and Kelly White, Group 16