The Dive Bomber: South City Hospitality at Pepper's Bar and Grill

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I approached Pepper's Bar and Grill (near Bevo Mill, not the place on Locust) on a cold, rainy night to see a woman sitting on the front stoop. She wore shorts and a t-shirt and was talking on the phone. She jumped up as I neared the door, smiled at me, opened the door and promptly let it slam closed in my face.

This is going to be a fun night.

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Robin Wheeler
I'm a little uncomfortable walking into a busy bar by myself. Places that are nearly deserted? Not a problem. Busy places leave me feeling like a loser.

"You flying solo tonight?" the bartender asked. When I said yes, she ordered me to call my friends. I had, but they are mostly responsible, functioning members of society who can't go to bars all the damn time.

I took a seat at the bar, downing a beer to counteract the over-stimulation of nine high-def televisions, all showing different things. The jukebox blared Hank Williams and James Brown, which made me happy. A note to bars: If no one's playing the jukebox, play it yourself. When the music stops, someone else will drop in their money. I've been known to hang out in bars and have another beer just because I liked the tunes.

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