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.
Read more after the jump
