The Stripes wasn't the most amazing bar in the world, but it was the one that most of the people in town tended to head to after work for drinks and food. Most of the week, it was a good place to enjoy a beer, kick back, shoot some pool, or hang out with friends. The interior was nice and large, all dark wood and decor that would be kitschy if it wasn't all entirely genuine; the place was something of an institution and had been for many years. Within the last few years, they'd expanded their food offering to provide a greater variety of pub food during the day and from Thursday to Saturday, the pool table and the freestanding tables were stowed to cater to the nightclub crowd. It never got particularly loud or outlandish, but it was still the preferred spot so the press of bodies did require a little extra maintenance.

Steve worked from Tuesday to Saturday, acting as the primary bouncer for the night club and the drunk wrangler for the other nights, occasionally assisting with tables and bussing on slower nights. He was friends with all of the staff, his boss regularly referred to him as an angel, and he'd gone from most desired co-worker to everyone's brother (sometimes older, sometimes younger) within a week of taking the job.

Tonight, he'd finally convinced Bryce to come to dinner with him; Sunday evenings had the best food (as far as he was concerned, old Irish fare as prepared by the cook to her rib-sticking preferences) and the lowest number of people, so it was the ideal night to come out.

"Bess makes the mashed potatoes proper," Steve said with some authority as they walked to the table, "and the lamb is fantastic when she decides to make it."