Amy and I had somehow found ourselves in a bowling alley bar and neither of us really knew how we had gotten there. It was less than lifeless. The room was shaped like two squares had crashed into each other but had only managed glancing blows, and the walls were covered in faded pastel murals representing various sports. Bowling was omitted, as if by not appearing it implied that it belonged with the other, more illustrious pastimes. Even the neon lights seemed dull and ashamed.

The larger square was filled with folding chairs and a few small tables, serving as reminders of epic past battles waged over the Keno being played on two small TVs. The bar was shoehorned into the smaller square. It was u-shaped and managed to fit the space despite forcing one side nearly into the wall. The door to the lanes smacked into it every time it opened. I think the two bartendresses had a little escape hatch to climb out into the pro shop for when they were done with their shift.

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