You go to Church Street Tavern, and… actually, let’s back up. It’s a tavern. It’s on Church
Street. And it’s open now.
Anyway: you go there, you take a look around, you take a seat, and you just want to hole up and wait out the
winter.
For tonight only, you eschew dates and colleagues altogether and decide to just do some thinking. Real
thinking. The kind that reinvents wheels and cures diseases and solves heretofore unsolved issues related to
the social impact of the swipe-based dating economy.
You get the ribeye with mushrooms, because that’s what you get. Some friendly waitress recommends a drink
called the Teacher’s Pet. At first you wince, but think better of it and say, “Yeah, I’ll
have it.” And it’s good. Damn good.
You ask what the deal is with that basement space you heard about. (It’s the one we’re telling you about
right now.) And they say, “It’s gonna be a speakeasy with memberships and passwords and people not
getting in while you’re cocktailing inside.”
