High Jinks

The moon shines bright. You cut through the garden and enter the elevator shaft. When the doors slide open, you hear the din, faint at first. A cocktail of joyous laughs, clinking glasses and rockabilly beats. Suddenly, you re-emerge underground and the sound hits you like a shot. Then, you see it. There it is. The stories were true. You pull up a seat at the bar, and, for a moment, you drink it in. It’s intoxicating, isn’t it? The buzz. The energy. He appears and greets you with a knowing smile. You’ve never met the barman before, but it’s like seeing a childhood friend. He shows you that old-fashioned hospitality that makes you feel at home. You take a sip from your glass and look around. These aren’t strangers, these are your neighbours. This isn’t just any bar, this is your local.