Last night, to say the least, was a late-night food-and-drink prowl, starting at Biker Jim's, weaving across the street to Marco's Coal-Fired Pizza, closing the bar down at the Squeaky Bean and stopping into this restaurant for a cocktail somewhere in the middle of the haze. I knew I wanted a drink with whiskey -- something dry -- and I knew, too, that the bartender wouldn't let me down if I left the rest up to him. I was right.
Can you guess where I'm drinking?
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