A dark squarish bar with an inactive, slurring clientele. In fact, one patron was found to be snoring next to his Miller. The frowning barmaid seemed to be used to this type of behavior. She seemed refreshed when she was able to talk with people that could speak (not just string together vowels and syllables composed mostly of sour mash). Even the juke box seemed tired and slurring. It was comforting to leave the men's room. We were told "You can find a seat on a Friday or Saturday night", hard to imagine anyone could stay away at all.
Photograph: low brick building with an awning over a row of windows, cars parked in front.
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