In winter, the floor was a glistening swirl of grit from black snow tromped in on careless feet. At the door, a slushy mix of grime and granules of ice covered the concrete floor. The dirt migrated gradually from the entrance, and midway into the bar, all that remained were faint prints and smears of boots.

The slick slush provided an added challenge to staggering customers attempting to go home. Exiting the bar, drunk patrons loaded their shoes with fatal moisture that turned the ice pack outside the door into a skating rink, and the impaired reaction time more than once resulted in a soul-sickening thud and crunch. Legs sprawled, skulls cracked, and those inside drank on, their own clumsy slipping and tumbling swirling at the bottom of the pints of beer they used to chase the ghosts of cheap vodka.