Dry Society

Dottie Grisby created a club and applied for a liquor license. That was fourteen years ago, and the city's still a party pooper.

The next day, Cleotis, as he always does after a big party, will walk around the neighborhood and ask anyone if the music was too loud or if the gathering caused any disruption. Chances are good that no one will complain. In late 1995 Dottie paid $11.50 for the Denver Police Department to search its records for any evidence of bad behavior at her establishment. "At your request, we have completed a data search for any calls for police service at your business address," a detective wrote back. "No entries were located."

For now, though, Dottie Grisby can relax. She leans back against her red-leather bar with a big grin and looks out over the room. "This club, it was my dream," she says, blowing a stream of smoke that drifts up toward her arch. "It's still my dream.

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