The Rooster Bar had the look and feel of an old neighborhood watering hole. Most of its regulars were government workers who lived in the area or stopped by each afternoon for a few stiff ones before heading home after the traffic thinned out. For some, the thinning out took several hours. The bar’s wide, half-moon counter was polished mahogany and brass, and by five each afternoon it was packed two and three deep with important mid-level bureaucrats slugging happy hour booze and watching Fox News. Its kitchen cranked out decent bar food at decent prices. In a corner booth, over chicken wings
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