This post is part of Norm Frampton’s Thursday Doors link-up.
The Southern Indiana Writers, a critique group that’s been around for over 20 years, was meeting at Point Blank Brewing. I loved it a lot, because I love the food and I way love the craft beers. But, in the summer, the semi-private booth we used got too hot for our member with thyroid issues to tolerate. They put a fan on us, but the wind was a problem for our member with severe dry eyes, and the noise made it hard for us to hear each other without shouting, and we sometimes use naughty words.
So we’ve started meeting at El Nopal in Corydon (or, as our youngest grandson calls it, Salsa). They also have great food (except for the tamales, which are BO-ring). The carnitas are di-vine, and they give you enough to take home and have as leftovers. They make a great Margarita, and they have Negra Modelo on draft. With a slice of lime. Yes, Lord!
But this is a post about doors.
The doors to the restaurant are just regular glass doors, but, inside the private room where we meet, is this:The sign above the door says “Mi casa es su casa”, “My house is your house.” Because I totally have a false door nailed to the kitchen wall in my house, right? It’s a nifty door, though.
Here’s the floor of the hallway between the necessary facilities and the bar. I have let the light ruin the top of the shot, because the mosaic is of a viper, and I don’t want to trigger any phobias.
In other news, A DEAD GUY AT THE SUMMERHOUSE got a four-star review on Amazon. Yay!
A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: A false door opens one day. What lies beyond?