I don’t think either of us knew it was a date.

We told ourselves it was just business. Who brings a laptop on a date anyway?

I know now that Velvet is on Granby and most certainly not in Ghent because after I spent a good 20 minutes cruising Ghent looking for it, I had to call her and ask exactly how one gets to this place. I’d assumed it was an elusive bar tucked away in Ghent’s hipster shadows. It is not. Velvet is right out in the open on Granby and boasting some prime real estate. Up until that point I’d always assumed she was a Ghent kind of person. But I suppose I was misled about more than a few things that evening.

Even though I went to Ghent I was not late for our business meeting/date because I get lost more often than not. I never seem to recall how to get somewhere until I’ve traveled to it at least a dozen times (with the exception of Tortilla West, which I still cannot find). I also tend to go the wrong way on interstates (but I blame Virginia’s irrational highway system for that), and I am forced to do a lot of illegal U-turns. Because of this I’ve learned to give myself extra travel time to allow for getting lost; I really hate to be tardy. These are just a few of my character flaws.

They play Kanye West quite a bit at Velvet. As I revisit this place post-heartbreak I sit out back and hear “Heartless” creeping from the bar only to be drowned out by Velvet’s impressive wall of water and light next to me. This is a great patio. On the night of our “date,” it was “Touch the Sky” that sparked our conversation about Mr. West’s over/underrated status. I still maintain the latter as the song in which Kanye really came into his own.

I’m not really clear on how or when it morphed into a date. It certainly occurred somewhere between the point that I stumbled into her fragile blue eyes and when she spilled her rum and diet for at least the second time. We talked about The Trifecta of Musical Suckitude (we can all agree that Nickelback tops this list, right?) and drank until we could drop our professional façade. We never talked about business. Now I’m here post-heartbreak, and I’m drinking with some half-assed notion that revisiting these memories without her will somehow alter the way I view this city. And perhaps it would’ve worked if the musical mastermind at Velvet hadn’t just played our song. I know you hear me on the radio. True. I know you see me on the video… Oh, Junior Mafia, why do you mock me?

Velvet serves their fries in a bucket the way you’d expect to receive crab legs or fried chicken. I’ve decided to order the fries post-heartbreak as a part of the getting-over-her process. She and I strongly disagree when it comes to french fries. I’m an all-American boy about my fries–hot and crispy, dipped in ketchup. She much prefers her fries on the soggy and lukewarm side while drenched in vinegar. And she loves the fries here at Velvet. I’ll never get used to these fries and no matter how much I miss her I cannot be swayed to the soggy side. Perhaps I should not have come alone, so I would have someone to eat these fries. They’re just taunting me now, accentuating her absence.

My bucket of fries is now a bucket of loneliness.

On the night of our first and absolutely accidental date our bartender had a Russian spy motif happening complete with her large (enhanced?) breasts on display. I took notice, but I didn’t notice, you know? Mesmerizing eyes beat out questionable ta-tas almost every time. Despite this post-heartbreak visit’s lack of a James Bond villainess behind the bar, the staff here at Velvet is pretty fucking great. Everyone’s friendly and attentive and, most importantly, they keep full bottles of beer in front of me. I think the waitress may be hitting on me, but I’m not sure because, you know, she’s a waitress. I better tip well either way.

Of course, this night isn’t going to end with me walking her home and enjoying that deliciously awkward moment at her door like it did on our first encounter, but I got to sit by a post-modern waterfall swilling cheap beer while tasteful hip-hop selections danced in my ears. This really might be a pretty cool place even without her.