Lenny's, July 4, 2003 Have you ever had the kind of year where you felt snakebit? The kind of year where everything hard that could happen, did? 2003 was that year, and I spent many afternoons of it sitting in a random bar that was down the street from my house, a place where nobody knew me and I didn't know them either and we were all just fine with that. Lenny's was in a blighted, forgotten area of town, a single-wide trailer welded to a shack squatting in an ungraded clay lot. It sat across the road from the spaghetti sauce factory, and at 4pm the shift would change and black men in white paper jumpsuits and hairnets would come in to play pool. They'd mix with the regulars, some of whom had been there since 10am, when the place opened. Cowboy, Al, Steve and the others whose names I can't remember didn't hang out there to drink, exactly, though they did that, too. They hung out there to play cheap pool, listen to the excellent jukebox, and discuss vario...
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