If you want to own a bar or tavern, you have to abide by local and state laws.

At the Saleve, the stove is drawing badly. This and the stale tobacco, rough wine and a perpetual acrid pungency (disinfectant or vomit, or both) are almost intolerable. But there’s that tingling you’ve only got to register once: within two seconds it gets you at the back of your throat, and then immediately diffuses like a drop of oil. A sudden and surprising sweetness. Breathe in through your mouth, out through your nose. That’s it. You’re hooked.

Someone here is smoking hashish.

I have closed more liquor establishments than any council member in the history of that council.

The ball lies in the administration's court.

This is a long, long time coming. I want to get in it as soon as possible.

Need 'nether whiskey. Whiskey chaser. Gotta get two men drunk.'

Mr. Cohan placed both hands on the bar. 'Mr. Walsh,' he said severely, 'in Gavagan's we will serve a man a drink to wet his whistle, or even because his old woman has pasted him with a dornick, but a drink to get drunk with I do not sell. Now I'm telling you you've had enough for tonight, and in the morning you'll be thanking me...' ("My Brother's Keeper")