THE LAST DIVE BAR
BY BILL PRONZINI
Harry had a thing for dive bars.
You know the kind of place. Old-fashioned taverns that have been in business in the same locale for many years, often family owned for generations, where locals regularly congregate and visitors are welcome as long as they respect the rules of the house. Monuments to the past that have changed little over time, each unique in ambience, history, tradition. Some exist in large city neighborhoods, but most are small town institutions—at least one in nearly every town nationwide.
Their diversity was one of the things that drew Harry to them. Another was the fact that he was on the road a lot and had plenty of opportunity to seek out new places. But the main reason was the array of interesting people he met in them, characters of both sexes and all ages, colors, creeds, and personalities—anyone who had stories to tell. You could say that dive bars had become a kind of hobby with him. (He found it amusing that the word dive had once referred to a disreputable watering hole, whereas now dive bar had become a term of mostly respectful appreciation. That was the evolution of language for you.)
. . .
