J&H's 7-Up Saloon
There is a bar on the opposite end of Castle Street from our house. It is home to a troupe of the finest white-trash ever assembled in one location in the city of Baltimore (for demographic purposes, Dundalk was not considered in this hyperbole).
Presently, there is one mullet in a black Eagle-American-Flag t-shirt, a man with severe scoliosis smoking found cigarette butts, two puckered looking old men in trucker hats and severely over-sized, sweat-stained white t-shrts, and one woman with what appears to be a debilitating form of dwarfism that requires her to ride in a Rascal scooter.
All of them are drinking tallboys, and the “lady” in the Rascal is discussing her history of “turning tricks” on North Streeper some years back.
Christ almighty.
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