I am sitting in a bar at a street corner. The main door is in the corner of the bar. It is open to the street. There is a glass cage at the entrance of the bar. The glass door of the cage is closed. A hefty, gray bouncer in a black suit is standing in the cage. I am watching him. He steps down onto the pavement. He steps up into the cage. In an almost elegant motion, he swipes the doorframe with his hand. He steps down onto the pavement. He steps up into the cage. He opens the door for a couple coming in. They do not even look at him. He swipes the doorframe with his hand. He steps down onto the pavement. He steps up into the cage. He opens the door for a couple leaving the bar. They do not even look at him. He steps down onto the pavement. He steps up into the cage. He swipes the doorframe with his hand. Behind him, above the window on the opposite corner, Colonel Sanders of Kentucky Fried Chicken—no, KFC—is beaming brightly toward the bar. The bouncer steps down onto the pavement. He steps up into the cage. He opens the door for me. We exchange greetings. “Do you ever have any trouble here?” I ask merrily. “Oh, no, not here!” he answers earnestly.