It’s a hardcore drinker’s bar, where people throw a few back while minding their own business…until there’s an opportunity to kill or fuck someone. A dirty mirror clings to the wall behind the bar, tattered bras hung with care like a rainbow. A burly, aging bartender wipes down glasses with a rag that looks like used Charmin. He pulls down the tail of his flannel shirt to cover the .38 tucked in his waistband. The bartender tries to stop Brobee. “Hey, asshole!” But nothing can stop him as he burns a trail to a back room, throwing open the reinforced steel door. He enters a room that serves both as an office and criminal playpen and finds Rasnick, Oleg and Vig playing pool. Nothing shocks these guys, but even they are a bit taken aback at seeing Brobee here. Brobee runs toward them, forgetting these guys tried to kill him not long ago. Rasnick’s punch to the face reminds him quickly. Brobee stumbles back, then tries to sooth the mood of the room.
