The Sports Bar nearby

You're still nervous, feeling as though you opened a can of worms as you tidy up your home before you head out for the evening. You figure a bit of **** or sheer embarrassment will knock this idea out of your mind. All that stands in your way from having a good time is your inhibitions, and you're fairly sure the place you're going has a remedy for that; either way, you're gonna have fun.

It's quicker and obviously safer to walk to your destination, there was no need to pull your car out from the lot. You can already see the sign jutting out of the wall a few blocks down from you. A part of you forgets what just happened back home, but you soon recollect your thoughts as you reach the crosswalk, looking to your right to notice a cop chatting with a clearly drunk man from where you're standing, leaning into his dented silver sedan, slightly ramped up onto the sidewalk.

You hurry along the crosswalk, trying to get there before you lose your nerve. You pass an arguing couple and a panhandling homeless man before you reach the doors of the establishment. You stop just outside, looking back before entering the building.

As you enter the Sports Bar, a pungent scent of nacho cheese and table cleaner fill your nose. You're greeted by a simple wave across the room from an unfamiliar bartender, probably a new hire. Curtailing your view on the employee, you give a wide gaze to the rest of the room. The bar isn't packed, but there's a generous few. Some huddled together by the flat-screens above; you forgot there was a game tonight. A few other patrons are scattered throughout, either sitting by the tinted windows or in the booths by the restroom.

The entrance door smacks you from the behind as a man walks inside, and you realize you've been standing around gawking a little too much.