Tipplers, beware! Drunk Poets’ Society is when Lauren Paredes goes to bars, magnetic poetry in hand, looking for poets who don’t know it … yet.
There is a bitter divide between the college students and the townies in the city where I’m from. UVA frat guys have been known to throw pee on my local friends while rollin’ in their SUVs, and my friends have been known for stealin’ kegs from their porches in retaliation.
Since I’m home in Charlottesville, VA for spring break, I figure now is the best time of any to reach out to a local via magnetic poetry.
West Main is probably one of the swankiest townie bars C-Ville has to offer. Settled dangerously close to the border of College Student Territory, quite literally the “other side of the tracks,” this bar has all of the typical Southern charms: Half-price whiskey on Sunday nights and exposed brick walls everywhere you look.
There is also Kylie, a transplant from Florida, who may or may not haunt this establishment once in a while. “Nice bald eagle hat” I say to her as we both order the $2 beer special.
“Thanks. It’s pretty much Jersey Shore meets Dixie,” she replies.
As we chat, I pull out my magnet set (aka patron bait) and wait for it to peak her interest. Kylie says something about her great aunt’s fridge and reaches for the tin of words. She wastes no time in setting up awkward phrases that make her laugh loud enough for the bartender to look over at us.
“Can I just stop writing after ‘sausage sweat’?” she asks.
We talk a little about life in a college town and bond over our joint frustrations as we order another round. Kylie has isolated all of the appropriately inappropriate words.
“I might be able to write about what it’s like on The Corner on any given weekend. Yes, this is how I feel about those people.”