The back bar at Bastille is beautiful: Dark, alluring and hip. An enormous crystal chandelier hangs above, giant paintings flank the back brick wall, and lacrosse games hum quietly on two bar-side televisions.
I shouldn't have ordered the absynthe. In retrospect, that was a bad choice. It tasted of good and plenties steeped in rubbing alcohol — but the French concoction was a gorgeous viridian green. At least it was nice to look at.
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