Gerry nods, and does exactly that, taking a sharp turn to the left. A few blocks away, there's a small, quaint-looking brick building. It's fairly non-descript and modest, its only identifying feature being the bricks of the steps being painted to look like piano keys. He leads her inside.

Within is a warm lounge with a small but well-cared-for bar and a handful of round tables positioned around a stage. Raucous folk music is being played on the stage by a quintet of satyrs. Gerry lights a cigarette and makes for the bar--- far enough from the stage that people can still talk.

"Happy birthday, by the way. Don't think I said."