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And the clientele was well-dressed -- most of the men in ties, and the women in dresses. I felt a little shabby in my shorts and tennis shoes, which would've been unthinkable in the old days. You could've gone in there wearing a turban of your own solid waste, and nobody would've blinked an eye. I was plumper links horrified. The place was crawling with goddamn yuppies. Fucking packed with goddamn yuppies. I took a seat at the bar, plumper links the only one that was vacant, and ordered a pint of Yuengling. The bartender was friendly, plumper links and stood there and shot the shit for a few seconds, then left me alone with my beverage. I watched all the activity with amazement. Well-scrubbed cute-girls scurried about delivering plates of complex entrees to tables, and delivered orders to the bartenders for martinis and shit. What had happened here? Where were the hotdogs and pitchers of beer? I sat and drank another lager, then another, and started to soften a little. It wasn't that bad, in fact it was pretty nice.
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