[CLOSED/COMPLETED]
WHO: Everyone :D
WHAT: It's a Wednesday night, and what better way to pass the hump than by getting a nice, cold, strong drink.
WHERE: Ancora Una Volta, a regular place, for regular guys, who like their drinks a-comin' and the waitresses cute
WHEN: Day 71, Wednesday night, after seven in the evening
[[NOTE: do not reply to the comments in the thread, but instead reply to the POST so your comment follows what has happened so far. SO. "Post a comment" instead of "reply to comment'. :D be sure to relooooadddd. ]]
The place didn't smell like piss. That was one of its good qualities. It didn't smell like piss and the bartender knew who he was. Another good thing. It was part of why as Brian neared his third shot, the man wasn't giving him questioning looks nor stopping the flow of alcohol. Well, that and the enormous clip of cash he had flashed upon entering had helped, too. Payday was sweet when you lived the name Vescovo.
The bar, named after one of the more famous lines in Casablanca, was a decent place, owned by a decent family that Brian could remember from his days as a child, and in truth, had been around long before the idea of him was even a distant and twinkling thought in the back of his mother's young mind.
La famiglia Caccini, one of the founding families of Reggio Calabria, had branched out into the more domestic markets that the city had to offer. So Volta as well as the corner store near Brian's apartment (not to mention a few others scattered across the town) were owned by the same family.
This bar was large enough to accomodate almost fifty people, but was not so spacious that it would leave twenty feeling isolated and alone. And there were already about thirty or so inside. It was warm, in tones of beige and reds, the walls ancient, just like some of the wines that were kept in the cellar below.
It was unassuming and safe, and this is why Brian is over the bar, grinning at the pretty waitress in front of him, downing that third shot he had ordered.
WHAT: It's a Wednesday night, and what better way to pass the hump than by getting a nice, cold, strong drink.
WHERE: Ancora Una Volta, a regular place, for regular guys, who like their drinks a-comin' and the waitresses cute
WHEN: Day 71, Wednesday night, after seven in the evening
[[NOTE: do not reply to the comments in the thread, but instead reply to the POST so your comment follows what has happened so far. SO. "Post a comment" instead of "reply to comment'. :D be sure to relooooadddd. ]]
The place didn't smell like piss. That was one of its good qualities. It didn't smell like piss and the bartender knew who he was. Another good thing. It was part of why as Brian neared his third shot, the man wasn't giving him questioning looks nor stopping the flow of alcohol. Well, that and the enormous clip of cash he had flashed upon entering had helped, too. Payday was sweet when you lived the name Vescovo.
The bar, named after one of the more famous lines in Casablanca, was a decent place, owned by a decent family that Brian could remember from his days as a child, and in truth, had been around long before the idea of him was even a distant and twinkling thought in the back of his mother's young mind.
La famiglia Caccini, one of the founding families of Reggio Calabria, had branched out into the more domestic markets that the city had to offer. So Volta as well as the corner store near Brian's apartment (not to mention a few others scattered across the town) were owned by the same family.
This bar was large enough to accomodate almost fifty people, but was not so spacious that it would leave twenty feeling isolated and alone. And there were already about thirty or so inside. It was warm, in tones of beige and reds, the walls ancient, just like some of the wines that were kept in the cellar below.
It was unassuming and safe, and this is why Brian is over the bar, grinning at the pretty waitress in front of him, downing that third shot he had ordered.