An old man in a tailored suit that probably used to fit, but now hangs loosely around his body stands at the door and takes your money when you come in. He smiles a lot but doesn’t say much. It’s his bar and in his twilight years he is content to simply watch people dance and enjoy the music. Postgraduate students sit and drink with high school dropouts, while the eloquently dressed dance with their friends who can wear nothing but hand-me-downs. For a few hours late at night, under dim lights and blaring blues music everyone is equal. This is my new favorite bar.

My new favorite bar is set up a lot like a very small VFW hall. It has three rows of long tables covered with cigarette-burned, plastic tablecloths. It has bulletin boards on the walls that are decorated in the same style as the ones we used to have in school. And it only serves four kinds of beer: Bud, Busch, Miller and Heineken. Miller only comes in 32 oz bottles, Busch and Bud in 40s and Heineken in the normal 12 oz variety. Want hard liquor? Bring it yourself and order a can of pop and a bucket of ice. Food? The entire menu consists of burgers, fries and chicken wings (order the fries, they’re divine). But the live Blues band was amazing and the tiny dance floor packed with people of all ages and ethnicities. Everyone in the place was friendly. A man spilled his drink so I gave him my napkins. To thank me he bought me a 40. As if that wasn’t enough he later asked me if I needed another. At that point the world was already tinged with the fuzzy filter of a good buzz so I declined. But I did shake his hand on the way out. Good times.