Boy, did you need a drink. Something offbeat, even, with tequila and plum wine. Yeah, plum wine. That was the ticket.
You needed a place like Petworth Citizen & Reading Room, a cozy little joint where you could take the edge off. Good thing it was already open in... you guessed it, sport... Petworth.
Blinds in the windows, ceiling fans whirring overhead, old whiskey on even older wood shelves. It was your kinda joint, the kind they almost don’t make anymore. The kind where you could see yourself settling in at the 25-foot copper bar with a bombshell in distress (or at least with your coworker... let’s call him O’Malley).
You let the bartender tell you about the 15 beers, the drinks like Who’s on First, with rye and green Chartreuse. And then she chatted you up about the chorizo burger and soy-ginger wings. You were sold.
And you knew you’d be back. Probably in a few weeks, when they got the reading room going—thousands of books, propped up on shelves, just waiting to be taken home.
Just like that bombshell.