The Bronx Pale Ale : Bronx Brewery : Pale Ale
So on a late afternoon, when the hard winter sun illuminated the sharper angles of Lincoln Center, I stand along the window table, sampling Bronx Pale Ale. The woman who served me it in a pint water glass had blank marble eyes. She looked through me for a whole minute before crossing the foot and a half space between us to ask if I wanted anything. All around tall people abound on the street and in the shop. A man and his wife chant through a shopping list of things in New York City, he repeating the refrain “well, we deserve this…” whenever there was a gap in the inventory.
The pale burns without complexity. I’m wondering if they are attempting an IPA, but dropped the I — not from humility, but from a need to separate themselves from the crowd. The thickness…thinking nitrogen here…is delightful, as is the hint of salt…but it all just burns like the cold flares hitting the crowded, directionless streets. Another year older and not the whole lot wiser, all I feel is ten dollars lighter.
It is all a ghostly experience.