I love bars like this, usually. Tucked away in corners off slightly disreputable streets, they are rich in promise and, usually, in atmosphere.
What I like less is having to climb 40-odd stairs to get into the bar, but that's more a result of my size and dislike of exercise, so we'll let it pass.
What I can't let pass is casual service. If the girl behind this bar was any more laidback she'd be horizontal. Barely moving from her position leaning against the bar, she muttered "What'll it be, man?" with barely a flicker of life in her face. So deeply immersed was she in her own world that I can only be grateful she noticed I was a man, I suppose.
Anyway, harrumphing to myself I collected my beer and went out to the rooftop smoking bar. And what a fantastic little spot it is - the centre of the roof is open, allowing the smog to escape, while the roofed-in edges offer shelter from sun or rain.
