Bowling Green Recreation Center

Think Hollywood and fade in… Saturday night, music is pumping, drinks flow. I slide onto the cracked plastic spin stool at the bar and survey the room. Drifts of cologne alternate with sweat, smoke, and antcipation. Should I bowl, should I eat, should I drink, or should I cold step to the honey who clocked me the second I walked in? Choice being obvious I flag down the bartender, Otto. My affable neighbor tells me his name is Joe but I should call him Book. Book says Otto makes a mean Coors so I order the same. I send a Rumplemintz to the honey and my other neighbor Dave says he likes my style. Book half nods with approval and the game is on. The evening becomes a blur of house music, body heat, flaming shots, and innuendo. I drive home from the honies house the next afternoon.
This is the Bowling Green. This could be you.