clunk another dart finding its mark a little further south west than desired, resulting in an eruption of inebriated groans. why do bars all seem to smell the same? I suppose years of smoking, drinking, and sweating eventually sink into their surroundings, albeit slowly. suspiciously tacky surfaces, obvious regulars, and the constant feeling of "why am I here?" but, I must admit there is something endearing about it. after all, I'm sitting here writing about it while slowly sipping on something overpriced. people pass through, bringing their stories with them, and always leaving a little piece behind. human spaces are strengthened by the history they create, and anywhere that serves decent food and drink will likely steward over a wealth of hearty laughs, stolen glances, "remember that time?"s.

it's nice.