Stories of bars (2 of 4): The forbidden bar.

At the first (Irish-American) bar I went to, there were a lot of older (white) cops, and some little kids showed up pulling a cooler to sell pop to everyone and stood on the bar's porch, and you could tell they were back from walking up the stadium and trying to sell to the crowds.

I talked with the (mid-40s) (female) (white) bartender a bit, and I casually mentioned that I had heard about a (black) bar that was a block down and 3 blocks over.

She said there might be one, that'd  make sense, but she's never been that way.

She also said she's lived in the neighborhood all her life.

I asked a bit more, and she said the (Irish-American) neighborhood was low-crime, except when gangbangers sometimes came over.

After that, I walked south, and when I was a block south, I could look under the vydock and see beyond it a liquor store sign sticking out...

I walked a block up to the vydock, past all these nice little houses of (white) people, and then I actually walked under the vydock, and on the other side to the left was a fenced off parking lot/industrial yard of a factory, and to the right was some (black) projects.

It was getting towards 8pm and I was on foot, so I didn't go, especially since I could see a couple people walking way up near the liquor store.

So, I turned back, and then walked to another (Irish-American) bar.

They had all sorts of signs out against gangcolors, but I was pleasantly surprised to see a few younger (black) guys who looked sort of fat and fratty with the fat and fratty (white) (presumably Irish-American) guys who could turn violent at any time.

I talked some with the (fat) (tattooed) (presumably Irish-American bartender), and he said he'd lived in the neighborhood 35 years, and there might be another bar the other side of the vydock, but he really didn't know.