I tried not to lean against anything. Leaning, I Feared, would give the wrong impression. It could seem too casual. Sitting was also not an option. I also did my level best not to make eye contact. This was harder than it sounds. When you are surrounded by people with dentition that resembles broken picket fences and forearms adorned with jail house style tattoos (some apparently made by carving shapes into the skin then pouring India ink into the wound) it's very difficult to look anywhere other than their eyes. Fear causes this.
The name of the bar was "Twisted Sisters." I'm serious. I wouldn't lie about something this deep. The place was run by two little old ladies with deeply wrinkled faces and Tom Waits voices. When they handed you a mug of beer the obligatory "Here ya' go hon" came in a voice that sounded like it was sculpted by cheap scotch and cigarillos.
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