breakup letter

dear trader todd's,

we're through.

you used to be my standby. my slam-dunk. my sure thing. i hated myself for coming back to you, but what could i do? it was monday, i needed my karaoke fix, and you were the only one i knew i could get it from, because you had karaoke seven nights a week. you were always giving it away, and i knew i could always get some with you.

i'd put up with the insanely pricey drinks. i'd put up with the terrible song selection. i'd put up with the fratboy crowd. i'd put up with the skeezy forty-year-old pickup artists...i just needed my karaoke fix, and you were the only place i knew to get it on a monday.

no longer.

i found a better place. a better place that has karaoke on mondays...a better place that has karaoke seven nights a week. i found the hidden cove.

the drinks are cheaper and better. the people there are not sketchy, and the crowd isn't reminiscent of a frat party. i don't feel like i stick out like a sore thumb, and i definitely don't feel like i'm being looked at by everyone there as if i'm a piece of meat. the people there are all ages, and they're generally friendly. i think i had one intelligent conversation with a stranger out of all the times i've been with you, trader todd's...i had several last night, with several different people, at the hidden cove. it's not too crowded to move in there on a monday night. you get to sing a lot of songs. the selection is still not what i wish it would be, but it's no worse than yours.

consider this the end, trader todd's. we're over. i belong to the hidden cove now. i finally have a good place i can depend on for karaoke seven nights a week, and i don't have to settle for you anymore.

enjoy your crowds and skeezes,
the persecuted crack smoker