Friday nights at PJ’s are a lesson in the human condition. On every other night of the week, the first floor of the creaky converted house functions as a sports bar for the Montrose old guard. They’re getting beers in plastic cups from PJ and smoking on the front porch.
Given that PJ’s looks a lot like a seedy basement, with rainbow lights, covered windows and low-slung futons, it’s an unexpected place to be confronted so honestly with the vagaries of the human heart. Then again, it might be one of the most natural. |
