An hour later, I walk into The West. The bar is just like I remember it: wood-paneled walls, a black lay-in ceiling, and linoleum floors that stretch through the long, narrow establishment. The back of The West is portioned off and furnished with Foosball tables, pinball games, and Pac-Man machines. The front area is dedicated to the bars, (there are two—one on each side), a few scattered tables with no chairs, and a D.J. booth. Dancing, of which there will be a lot of later on, is anywhere people decide it’s gonna be. More than likely it’ll happen in front of the band that’s setting up near the front window.
Walking in here is like walking into a minefield. In my old life, when I was in my twenties, The West was the hottest spot in town. Everyone knew everyone, and I’m quite sure I’m goi
