The counter along the Queen Street window pours tea, coffee, lemonade and water only, with no menu and nothing cooked on site.
Someone sitting out a hand steps behind the counter and pours — tea, coffee and lemonade, water once the evening wears on.
Nobody has ever run a kitchen out of this building. No stove, no order pad, no plate has ever left that counter.
It stops pouring the second the last chair pushes back from the last table.
Tea, coffee, lemonade, water
A meal, a snack, a menu of any sort
The instant the final hand ends
Once the doors open at seven
A short list, nothing fancy
For anyone still at the table past midnight
Right after the last hand
Everything beyond this point describes a room where the entry age is eighteen. Please tell us where you stand.
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