Stumpy’s

With a name that bleeds Western Pennsylvania, Stumpy’s is a medium-​sized basement bar full of heavyset guys with sleeveless plaid shirts and girls in tight jeans, all of whom want to get you drunk, even if they’ve never seen you before in your life. Kay’s friend and former co-​worker was observing his birthday this past Friday night, and because of that we had to stop by.
Guess what? I wouldn’t have minded hangin’ around another hour or so. I almost played a game of pool. We even ran into Maggie, formerly of FM Bistro, who told me that Kay’s animal print bag matched my eyes.
Yeah. Guys, never get stuck holding your significant other’s purse, especially in a bar.
Some large, jolly fellow insisted I eat a cherry. It turned out that the cherry was soaked in evil spirits and nearly gave me brainfever, which I gather was the idea.
People in Monaca are as nice as can be, seriously. Again, we hardly knew anybody, yet everybody wanted us to stay.
«Where yinz goin’?»
Hey, it was Christmas, y’know?
P. S. I truly like this bar way more than the unfortunate Bronze Eagle. At least at Stumpy’s, the bartenders don’t ignore you. I could hang out here.