Finding the Pub

The young man stood in front of a bar he'd never seen before. He'd lived in the city his whole life, but never once seen or heard mention it, ever. It was random happenstance he came across an obscure blog about the oldest bar in the world. The Hour of the Wolf may or may not have had an effect on this particular search. After many nights of searching, he came across an Obscura webpage reference of a place downtown that might be an entrance.

A quick motorcycle ride brought him to the abandoned corner of the warehouse district. He flipped out the kickstand and dismounted. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and began searching the area. The street lights flickered, but the young man persisted. After half an hour, he came upon a door adorned with strange markings.

He stood in front of the door for several moments before taking a few steps forward.

"Can I help you?" Said a voice in the shadows.

The young man turned toward the sound. A cherry light light emanated in the shadow followed by the fragrant smell of pipe tobacco. A man emerged from the shadows, with a pipe in hand. He wore simple clothes and ran a hand across his brown hair.

The young man took a step back.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" He asked.

The man tapped the spent tobacco out of his pipe.

"Name's Henry, Henry Thoreau." Henry said, offering his hand.

The young man shook Henry's hand.

"Yeah, hi, I'm Jason, Jason Ross. Why does your name sound familiar?" Jason asked.

Henry smiled as he pocketed his pipe.

"You're looking for The Pub aren't you?" Henry asked.

"The? Oh, yeah. I've only just heard about it. But how can the world's oldest bar be here?" Jason asked.

"It's a bit more complex than that." Henry said with a laugh.

Jason frowned.

"Come Jason, walk with me." Henry said.

They approached the door. Henry turned the knob and the door swung inward revealing a dark hallway. They stepped inside and the door shut behind them.