I don’t usually go to places likes Rock Bottom. This massive riverfront palace of a bar seems too hip and swanky to be a hangout for a sparsely-employed freelance writer who periodically wears shirts with wolves on them. But after taking in a comedy show at the Pabst Theatre with some visiting relatives last weekend, we stumbled across the bridge to give Rock Bottom — a place I’m neither wealthy nor un-lovehandled enough to visit alone — a try.
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