You ever been to an old man bar? I mean, one of those dark, moldy places with red carpeting on the floor and Christmas lights from 1972 tacked around a mirror hung behind the shelves of booze? The place smells like funk and cigarette smoke, blue toilet cakes and piss and it may or may not have a jukebox or a solitary pool table that they put in a tiny room in the back so as not to disturb the people hunched at the bar.
It is a place for serious drinkers, people who don't look into the mirror behind the bartender, a place where no comparisons are made and hitting rock bottom is a thin memory, like faded photographs of a Disneyland vacation taken with the family as a child.
What? Too melodramatic?