When flowers start to bloom, we know lovely Spring is here. When you start sweating from places where you’ve never sweated before, it’s a sign that Summer is upon us. And when The Must reopens at its new home in the Pershing Square Building, we’ll know that fall has arrived.
The neighbourhood bar that since late 2008 sat on 118 W 5th St in our beloved Downtown Los Angeles before abruptly closing down with no warning what-so-ever some eight months ago (it was a bitter heartbreak. But we’re coping), will embrace us once more with rim-filled glasses of wine and a room full of Angelenos to make googly eyes at.
The new location puts The Must closer to the offices of the Financial District and directly across the street from the Pershing Square subway station. With that said, you can update your little black book now and feel free to invite me for a drink as soon as The Must is up and running.
Also, if you’ve ever been heartbroken bullet-in-my-eye-status, read below “My Love Letter to The Must. Oh how I’ve Missed You So”. Only then will you understand.
My Love Letter to The Must. Oh how I’ve Missed You So.
According to Google, it’s been 5 843.87518 hours since we last spoke. Not that I’m counting or noticed that you missed Thanksgiving, Halloween, Christmas, New Year’s and St. Patrick’s Day. Ugh, that was a tough one.
It was difficult I must admit. Walking up to your front door and seeing that you’re no longer there. No letter, no email, no Facebook message, no tweet, no pigeon mail. Nothing. A post-it at least would have been more digestible than your abrupt departure.
I know you haven’t called or written. And I know I shouldn’t have called you the other night, or the night before, or the night before that. Do you still have caller ID? Anyhow, my friends would kill me if they knew I wrote you. But ever since I heard that you’ll be in town soon, well, I haven’t been able to shake you from my head.
My friend Katy told me you’re looking good. ‘Remember my girlfriend Katy? Of course you don’t. You never paid much attention to any of my friends. You were too busy hosting and making sure there were enough board games to go around for everyone. Do you still make killer sangria?
But that doesn’t matter now. All that is in the past. Katy tells me you’re looking different, “more refined” she said. I hope you haven’t changed too much. I loved your approachable way and the way you greeted everyone with a glass of their favorite drink, and the way you spun music loud enough to drown my thoughts but low enough to where I could still hear your whispers.
Anyhow, call me sometime. Maybe we can meet up at your new place for a drink or two. Like old times, and for old times sake.
Forever yours …