We're pathologically social. We're professional leisurists. We're burrito lovers, bar flies, art whores and music nerds. We dish the good dirt, and we'll risk a parking ticket for a cheap sample sale. Sometimes, we blog drunk.
Weekend of Ward: Barker-ing up the wrong tree
“Do you think she’s on ecstasy, or just really nice?
My friend Victor raises a good question. A bubbly blonde in a sundress has approached three of us at Barker Block downtown and she’s a little too… friendly. The new loft space in the middle of an otherwise industrial wasteland is establishing itself as a hangout hub by throwing a summer full of free parties offering sunsets, rooftop views, a cozy Jacuzzi and gallons of free alcohol.
It’s Saturday night and the crowd includes a healthy mix of men wearing too much musk, dreadlocked hipsters and a few wizened, platinum blond cougars. Megan-in-a-Sundress bears the innocence of someone who was on the student body council in high school, but is hovering by our lounge chair with saucer eyes, asking us questions that are laughably clichéd: Do we come here often? Are we having fun? Don’t we like the view? As she bounces away, we’re left debating if she wants to sell us a million-dollar loft downstairs, if she’s rolling on pharmaceutical grade aphrodesiacs or if she’s just hammered on free rum.
Regardless, the view of downtown and the July breeze is worth fiddling with the GPS to find. We wave goodbye to Megan as two of her friends are splayed out on a poolside lounge, making out with the fever of prisoners on a conjugal visit. Perhaps they’re just happy to be here?
Miss Alie Ward
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