Old man bars

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I’d found myself in a couple of dusty hole-in-the-wall bars of late. Bars that look like they’ve been around forever (for some, 41 years to be exact) with the same few white-haired regulars who, when they walked in, shook hands with everyone. The owner is happy to serve us our drinks and leave us undisturbed – as he sips his own glass of wine.

In these bars, there are no tasty cocktails and my glass of red may have come straight from a box in full view behind the bar but just for a bit — at the tail end of a sleepy afternoon — we were part of an inner circle of sexagenarian hipsters even though we stood out, conspicuous as tourists.

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