Short for ...
It's the local pub, never been, want to go, finally with a few friends we hit it. It's the competition to where I work, and - picture every small-town bar you've ever been to, it overlooks an apartment block - same owner - that, while commanding a king's view offers squalor as the viewpoint, in the bright light of summer depressing as all out. The bar, newly furnished, cheaply, pool table, VLT's, the hardened local alcoholics, it's classic, the waitresses, the older, down-on-your-luck sorts, probably living in the housing across the way, the location is paradise, the accommodations, the bar, despair itself, for trifling savings the whole community has to endure what is clearly the "ghetto" of Balfour, where take place the drug overdoses, the thousand miseries of small town life, all beneath a blistering summer sun ...
Drink, chat up the waitress, the classic ditsy older waitress, lovely, you couldn't ask for better caricatures, ride out the summer heat, drink your drink, order another, it's still too early, 8:00 PM on a Friday night, I gotta come back here 'round midnight, 1 AM, see what's up, the town, so tiny, but a pretty big nightlife considering there's only 350 people, there's a band setting up and I'm done, I've eaten, soaked up enough of the ambiance, but I'll be back...