As soon as we got to the sidewalk in front of Pleasant Café, it was clear that the stories about it were true. It’s brightly painted side wall baring its name greeted us as we walked toward it from the north, and as we approached the front door, the façade almost totally windowless and with dirty neon signage reminiscent of movie diners and old stories, a couple of townies burst through the door and out into the unseasonably warm winter evening.
“We should be wearing bikinis!” the drunk-at-6PM-on-a-weekday tavern-goer exclaimed to my amused wife. She and her consort stumbled past us, pushing the door a little extra open as they left for us to make our way in.
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