The bouncer at 77 Degrees, on Henderson Avenue, was bundled up in a thick jacket. He checked my ID and informed me that he hates cold weather. It was indeed below the temperature that the bar’s name had promised, but as a cool-climate person, I was looking forward to some chilly rooftop drinking.
77 Degrees, above the forthcoming Irish pub Jack & Ginger’s, was awash in purple and blue lights. Bed-size swings dangled from the beams of the covered seating areas; a waterfall fountain trickled down one wall. Nearby, a young man bounced on another swing, that one O-shaped.
After a few minutes, a big group of guys came in and stood in the middle of the space. Their heads turned as a half-dozen women in their early 20s surfaced at the bar. The ladies debated what to order before settling on lemon drop shots.
The bartender set to work, and a bearded man nearby asked her, in a mocking tone: “What’s the most basic drink you have? Do you have White Claw?” She smirked, and the guy and his friend laughed riotously. Their Ray-Ban sunglasses were nestled neatly together on the bar.
After a moment, the women took their basic-but-delicious shots to a couch well away from any of the men and heartily enjoyed them. The group of guys pretended not to watch. It reminded me a little of a middle school dance, complete with the snide, too-cool kids in the corner.
I ascended to the upper deck. The space was empty except for a quiet couple gazing out at the glittering Dallas skyline.
It was nice. The weather was perfect, my drink was delicious, and I could keep an eye on the drama below—if I felt like it. A neon sign flashed across the rooftop: Right Where You Need To Be.