A visit to Kip's 

Party Down

Corey Wells Walking through the door of 95

Party Down

Walking through the door of 9546 Allisonville Road Suite 111 (96th and Allisonville), I was pleasantly surprised to see that Kip’s Pub wasn’t packed. The bouncer at the door, checking my ID, complimented me on my newly shaved head. After a long day, watching my Ohio State Buckeyes come from behind to defeat Shane’s Michigan Wolverines, we decided we would rather relax than fight the large crowds in Broad Ripple or downtown. We agreed on Kip’s.

Our waitress attended to us promptly all night, even as the crowd grew. The DJ, Eric West, played a sweet mix of classic and alternative rock, with a little hip-hop mixed in for good measure — perfect for boozing and brawling. We secured a pool table with a good view of all three big-screens.

Sometime around 10 o’clock, my monstrous counterpart was approached by three suave looking lads.

“You want to play for some money?” the youngest-looking one asked, holding his Jack-and-Coke.

“No thanks,” Shane replied. “We’re just relaxing, watching some football.”

“Come on,” he pleaded. “You just ran the table on that guy.” (Referring to me, of course.)

“Well, we could play,” Shane said with a grin. “But you’d probably take all of my money. Then, I would have to follow you to the parking lot and get it back.”

The conman returned to two of his friends, and it took no time for the three to exit the bar, leaving their drinks unfinished.

Time flew, as we filled up on beer and watched USC once again overcome a deficit against Fresno State, and make it a game. Mark my words: Reggie Bush will win the Heisman.

Shane bumped into an old classmate, Heather. Heather and her posse claimed a table in the corner, adjacent to ours. They were a wily bunch, dropping their drinks and launching cue-balls into the crowd. Around 12:30 Shane let it slip that I was writing a review. The 20-something red-head grabbed me by my arm.

“You're writing a review?” she slurred. “Can you believe I got cut off?”

I looked at my watch. “It’s only 12:30. You were cut off at 12:30?”

“I know! Can you believe it? I’m not drunk. I’m 28,” she said. “You can put that in your review.” Another martini glass hit the floor.

“Believe me,” I said. “I will. Heather, 28, one of Shane’s old classmates, was belligerent and got cut off at 12:30.”

“12:20,” she replied.

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