When I turned eleven years old, my dad left a cozy job selling life insurance and bought a tavern. He ran it for fifteen years, but after his second heart attack decided to turn it over to my brother-in-law. The crowd soon transformed from old factory workers into young Harley motorcycle riders. Every one of them looked like they’d jumped out of a ZZ Top album cover. They were the quintessential beer drinkers and hell raisers. Continue reading
Thomas Lopinski - Author 