After a damp fireworks display in Sanford, we somehow ended up at the Tin Lizzie Saloon on First Street in Sanford. It doesn't serve anything besides beer and those weird hard liquor coolers. Oh, and jello shots, courtesy of the bartender. Mine was melon flavored, I think. The cigarette smoke was thick and a John Wayne movie was on one of the televisions. The jukebox was playing and a woman was dancing, beer bottle tightly clutched in her fist. She alternated the dancing with enthusiastic smooching of the old man on the right at the end of the bar. Not sure if she knew him or not. The whole scene felt like a Heironymus Bosch redux. I was closely observed during my sketch by a very drunk man named Robert on my right, who also insisted I sketch him. His compliments on my work, although hard to make out due to his advanced state of inebriation, were nonetheless appreciated. These kinds of places are fascinating to me, but I don't know why. I think it has something to do with my perception that they are people living on the edge of society and sometimes slipping off the cliff. It's like they've stopped playing by the rules, something I wish I could do sometimes.