It is enough to make me say, "OK!" when the owner offered to show me the beer garden he's building. I'd earlier heard mention of a couple going to the beer garden. I thought it meant they were going to the restroom to screw.
As we walked the narrow hallway in the back of the building, it occurred to me that I could very well meet my demise -- or get a stern interrogation -- instead of a trip to the beer garden. Not the case. There really is a beer garden, and it's lovely, with a trickling fountain, climbing roses and a fireplace that'll be installed before the weather gets chilly.
I promised to return to have a beer by the fire. I won't be having any JD, though. Next time, I'm sticking to the four-for-a-buck tequila-soaked maraschino cherries, which probably don't have any truth-serum powers at all.
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