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Whenever I want to return to the essence of Brownsville, I visit the Palm Lounge.

For me, the Palm Lounge is a shrine.

Back in the day Johnny Quiroz ran the joint with his faithful team of Beto, Toque and Servando. We would gather there for the big fights beamed from Mexico. The burgers were the best and the beer never quit flowing. The bathroom reminded me of a rank cantina in Matamoros.

I have gone through periods when I haven't paid my dues. Just like a Catholic who abandons the church for years until one day he finds himself in the Immaculate Conception Cathedral lighting a candle before the statue of St. Jude Thaddeus hoping against hope, I have never abandoned my faith in the Palm Lounge to restore my faith in my adopted hometown.

The Palm Lounge remains a beautiful woman to me; her bounteous breasts are filled with beer rather than milk.

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