There aren't any customers yet.
The night is still extremely early.
The doors aren't even open.
I brought the last of my gin from home.
Even brought my own tonic water.
Please, don't get on my case about the liquor inspector.
I'm not even sure the liquor inspector exists.
"Can't let you have that in here. If the liquor inspector comes in, we'll get shut down."
How good do you think the liquor inspector is at his job?
"Oh, it's just one"--
Door's kicked open.
SWAT team swarms in, commanding everyone to get down on the floor.
They're smashing light fixtures and the tables' flower vases.
And among the chaos, there he is.
The Liquor Inspector.
Fedora outlined in the doorway.
Immaculate trench coat cinched tight.
"I'm shutting this place down."
Give me a break.
Tell the underage girls to pull up a stool.
They're not flappers and this isn't a speakeasy.
The liquor inspector isn't coming.
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