The Filling Station is dim. The brick-red walls don't reflect light. They absorb it. Walk in past the fellas in jean shorts and "Freedom Isn't Free" tank tops, sit at the bar and ask the lass what she recommends for sorrow-drowning purposes. She's liable to set up a shot of Jack Daniel's and a Budweiser. Whether it's a tough job market (Stevie Wonder's "Living for the City"), a breakup (Weezer's "Say It Ain't So") or general disillusion (Billy Joel's "Moving Out"), the Filling Station has the song for you. This is a bar where you can feel invisible for as long as you like — and just as comfortable talking to somebody. Anybody.
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