My birthday occurred this weekend, and it coincided with the beginning of Louisville Craft Beer Week, so there was drinking involved. I'll spare you the tasty, delicious details of Thursday's and Friday's beer consumption and get right to the whores. Yes, I said whores.
I met several friends and coworkers at the annual Highlands Fest, a fine early Fall excuse to listen to live music and drink in the street. As it got late, we decided to take our bloated livers to a local bar's outdoor patio.
But where to go, where to go? We picked a place that, despite the high volume of drinkers concentrated in the area, is practically empty every weekend. This place is surrounded by bars that charge a cover on weekends, with people waiting in line to get in. This joint, however, charges no cover and is usually deserted. How do they stay in business? I don't have proof, but I think management is going "the extra mile".
As we sat at their back patio, people started showing up. Cars with out of state license plates pulled up, filled with young women dressed in Catholic School Girl outfits. Two large men with guns visible in the waistbands of their designer impostor sweatpants seemed to be "in charge".
Ok, here is what I know:
-There were several young girls wearing white button down shirts (tied off at the waist) and short plaid skirts.
-There was a makeshift photo booth assembled near the front bar. For privacy, perhaps?
-There were a bunch of young guys in there, which is of course normal, but there weren't any young women other than the skirt-clad group who arrived together.
-Most puzzling of all, the front doors were all locked. On a Saturday night, on a very high-traffic street, on a night when said street was busier than usual, you could only get into this bar from a back entrance. And you had to walk past a couple of gun-totting leviathans as well.
What was happening? I'm thinking there was some serious flesh peddling going on there. Maybe not. Maybe it was a private party where you could get your picture taken with a hot young lady. Yeah, and maybe if you got drunk a flying unicorn would take you safely home.
Whether we were drinking on the patio of a sketchy bar or a full-fledged whorehouse, we decided not to press our luck any further. We got the hell out of there before we saw something someone didn't want us to see.
Well, now I have a strong idea of how this bar pays the rent.