Dinos, Nashville

As we walked through the doors a storm began. A bloke at the bar asked if we were sheltering from the storm or actually there to have a beer. I was unsure if he was trying to quote Bob Dylan or if he didn’t like our type. The room was dim and a bluegrass band, drowned out by the rain pelting the roof, strummed ditties from another time. The old-duck at the bar served us beer in jam jars and cooked our burgers at the same time. The toilet wouldn’t flush and a foul smelling sticky substance dripped from the roof. When we sat at our table a river started flowing at our feet – the storm was encroaching and I wouldn’t have been surprised if the whole establishment drifted away around us. Ice cold beer never drank so good.


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