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The entrance, the difference in temperature as you walk in from the pavement and the throb of the city,
the stools, the way the bar says hello to your elbows as you rest them there, the napkin, the glass,
the bartender and his “hello”, the drink, the music that dances slowly round your head. They all need to click together, to make up a cohesive unit that sings “here I am and here you are, let me serve you a drink”. Because at the heart of it, that’s all there is.
The Gin Joint is just that. It’