5 O'Clock will always stand in infamy. I am pretty sure the smoke in the air is still lingering from someone's cig they puffed in 1977. I like to imagine her name was Cherry and she was wearing tight black jeans with silver zippers on the legs. Her permed, sticky Aqua-Net hair pulled high onto her head with tendrils dripping. She sat at the corner stool waiting for her guy Dom to finish up in the restroom. They had a long night ahead of them. She was trying to keep him distracted to slow down his drinking by cigarettes and cleavage. Dom had helped more than one dump earn the title of punch palace after too much to drink.
Ah, the 5 O'Clock. I don't care how many creepy men are hanging around the bar, I love this place.