[center][h3]Ivan’s Brew[/h3][/center]

The seats were packed and not a single man was going without a drink, this for Robs was a slow day. At a capacity of about thirty, they saw men from all corners and ways of life. However, traditional policy meant they could not refuse them service. For a few caps, Robs would probably sellout everyone in the bar, man, woman, or child, he didn’t care. Business was business in his mind.

Oaf silently stood off in the corner doing what he did best, absolutely nothing. His mind was about as empty the wasteland, Robs sometimes wondered if it was emptier. Suddenly two men walked up to the counter, looked to be raiders, but it didn’t really matter. With a somewhat disinterested look Robs asked “What would you two…” he paused for a second “gentleman like from our fine establishment.”

“We hear you have the best damned bear around, something we would like to test ourselves.” The man gave a somewhat sinister smile. “Don’t disappoint.” Lucky for him he wouldn’t. Before his father had died he left his secret brew, a special mixture from a prewar cookbook. Along with it came a series of instructions to make other alcoholic beverages from martinis to bloody marrys. However the lacked ingredients to most.

“We will be right with you.” He went into the back and grabbed a bottle of old Sunset Sarsaparilla bottles filled with Ivan’s Brew. The labels had been crossed out and replaced with the words “Ivan’s Special Brew” written with a crude black sharpie. When he returned Robs simply remarked “Trust me, this is the best you will get in miles. Other places scavenge their whiskey, we take the time to make it.” The men left pleased, and he continued on his day.