“Last call at Anacone’s” doesn’t mean the same thing to people who never made 3178 Bailey Ave. their home away from home.
For me, “last call at Anacone’s” is a happy thought.
“Last call at Anacone’s” will always evoke frisky Dalmatians skidding on tiles around the pool table, scampering to sniff and amiably tail-whip the evening’s tenants. They are blinking into lights snapped on at 3:30 a.m. to prepare them for the separation anxiety of the looming expulsion to the cold world, and a home of their own.
Puppy love before having to go back out into the cold, hard world.