D.O.P.-T.

[weofodthignen]

A profitable night last night, and I only had to throw two guys out. On Friday night, while Old Guy was taking one of his long smoke breaks, I was buttonholed by a guy who speaks as if he has few teeth left and gesticulates wildly; he always spins the same yarns about all the rock concerts he went to in his youth and how he rode with the Hell's Angels, and this time he was telling me something about the Sicilian Mafia. I'd call him an old codger, but the age he claims to be is the same as mine.