I went to see some of my favorite local bands at Tempe's most notoriously seedy dive bar, the Palo Verde. If you haven't had the privilege of checking it out, you can find it located in the scenic industrial district of Tempe. Nestled between a milk-processing factory and an array of liquor stores.
I was hanging out with a friend from Bosnia, who was visiting Tempe and experiencing the Palo Verde for the first time. Even with the accent, I think he managed to describe it rather accurately.
I'm pretty sure the bartender kept giving me half-price drinks because he thought I was in the band. After decades upon decades of never seeing the sun, I think his brain only registers people in two categories.
Seconds after the show ended, a notably intoxicated middle-aged regular who still had some of his teeth, took hold of the microphone and said . . .
Before he could finish clearing his throat, everyone under the age of 50 in the bar had evacuated.
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