When you enter a bar on a weekday between the hours of noon and 5, you never know into what world you are stepping.
This is why I love doing so on road trips.
Perhaps it is a rooftop bar and you strike up a conversation with the bartender, who pours you a strong mojito and two cans of Mountain Time. She is friendly and slightly sad and she reveals that she is working her ninth day in a row in order to save up enough money to move out of her mother's house. She hands you the check when you ask for it and says nice to meet you and when she goes downstairs you leave a $20 tip on a $30 check and know she will be happy to receive it.
Other times, the only customers in the bar are men in their 60s best described as "unemployable." They are talking about guns and hitting on the 22-year-old bartender. One of them announces "I am old, and short, and broke, but at least I have good hair and a big dick."
You drink your Silver Bullet in 90 seconds, leave two dollars on the bar, and exit without making eye contact.
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