By Natalya Jones
By County Grind
By Liz Tracy
By Chris Joseph
By Liz Tracy
By Matt Preira
By Jesse Scheckner
By Michael E. Miller
I sipped my beer and jabbered with my friends Beard and Bullock and SoFla's handsome famous do-gooder Aaron Jackson (known for opening orphanages in Haiti, founding the nonprofit Planting Peace, and being featured as one of CNN's Heroes), who was wearing a T-shirt with the periodic table of elements and telling us about how bureaucratic bullshit is making it difficult for him to get the surgery necessary to save a cancer-afflicted Haitian child's life. (See BrowardPalmBeach.com for updates on Aaron's attempts to save the kid, Esthelhomme Peterson.)
Then, as the conversation approached lighter tones — apparently Aaron was quite the ladykiller before he became busy helping those in need — I ran into the bottom of my red plastic cup, upon which I'd hastily scrawled my name with a black Sharpie.
"I'm out too," said Aaron, as together we made our way to the bar. It was suspiciously uncrowded, and my nightmare was soon confirmed.
810 NE Fourth Ave.
Fort Lauderdale, FL 33301
Category: Bars and Clubs
Region: Fort Lauderdale
"We just ran out of booze," said Garo, who was cleaning up behind the bar. "Beer, liquor, all of it."
I slammed my empty red cup down. Aaron hovered for a moment beside me.
"This can't be," I said dramatically. Aaron skittered off, not wishing to further witness my alcoholism.
Garo looked apologetic.
"You're telling me you have nothing?" I moaned. "I am not anywhere near drunk enough."
Garo looked uncomfortable.
"OK, OK, guard it with your life," Garo hastily drew open the fridge door behind the bar and put a Newcastle in my hands. (I told ya, he's a nice guy.) "That's the last one!" he called after my retreating form.
Clutching the bottle tightly, I ran back to my friends and gave Aaron half the Newcastle.
Despite my distrust for writers' opinions, I had to admit, the Bubble is a piece of art in itself. Memo to Garo, though: Next time, order a few more kegs.