35 of 210 : Ingrid

The tall, aging German woman didn’t own the place, but we called it Ingrid’s anyway. The dark, louche bar-and-restaurant-that-never-seemed-to-serve-food was home to a handful of hard-bitten regulars. Les and I found dozens of ways to ply free drinks from its denizens, and danced to Chuck Mangione on the juke box.