The first time you go to Flo's Polka Dot Lounge (and don't confuse it with the drag cabaret in the Crossroads District), you might assume that you're wandering through a fever dream. It takes a little while to get your bearings here. There's the name, which sounds too sunny for the worn interior, where the gray polka dots on the walls have grown faint. There's the out-of-time jukebox, as likely to startle you with a Pink song as it is to comfort you with Hank Williams Jr. And there are your fellow drinkers, who are civil but content to let you drink alone. Do you like your dive bar close to danger? Flo's is just an 8-ball's throw across the street from the 7-Eleven that seems to get robbed every month. Sneak a glance at the guy on the stool next to yours. Is he the stickup man? Nah. He'd have to leave Flo's to do the job, and neither of you is going anywhere tonight.
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