pushed aside the door, and stared into the dimly lit, smoke filled drinking establishment that had called his name in neon lights from across the street. He sniffed cautiously, for the scent of urine would be a telltale that this pub was less a place of jovial intoxication, and more a respite for the lowly and profane.
Seeing only clean wooden floors, well used tables and chairs, and a host of patronage that represented a more diverse clientele, he felt sure enough to step inside and have a drink.
Making his way up to the bar, he chose a stool that wasn't missing a ball bearing in the seat. "Barkeep", he called out to the world weary but ever alert host who was standing toward the other end, "could I get a Scotch and soda, please?"
He passed the time waiting for his beverage, by examining the counter. Well worn, and likely much loved by the face of every drunk who had passed through this establishment, it had a veneer of usefulness, and a couple of words etched into the surface that he would be hard pressed to repeat in polite company, and until he knew the status of this mixed set, it would be best to not to do so.
Though the cavalcade of drunks on display made him feel that he could urinate in the corner and few would notice, still, for now, he would resist that temptation. Besides, he didn't feel drunk enough yet to push the envelope with what had to be the new owner. Best to play it nice and easy, that way, if all hell broke loose, people wouldn't be looking to him for any kind of admiration or blame. That's for people with health insurance.