Swing sunday across the street at Swig, "lets have a swig," says my dad. 

Inside at first sight the suited man (did he work today?) swiping a blonde number and stealing her kiss. On the dark leather couch a lady in faded jeans and vans, blues in the background with cats cutting it up keeping it real (atmosphere is important) on whiskey coloured wooden floors.

"Good night?"

It's always good, so says he.