The smell. Augh. The smell. There is a hint of egg and fish standing right in front of the saloon. I’m more expectant of a market of allsorts when I walk through this door. It’s almost disappointing to open up the saloon doors and see just the sad owner staring at me.
Saloon
Each table is decorated with either a blue or red gingham sheet, tableware and napkins delicately aided in its homey appearance. The bar table was in disrepair, yet its seats strewn across it looked fancy, perhaps even expensive. Behind it were mounts of taxidermied fish, ugly furnishings if you asked me.
“I try to appeal to everyone.”
Said a bitter Sheepdog, his voice mumbled each word.