Day after I first met him there, I came back in at my usual derelict mid-afternoon hour, and the barmaid sternly addressed me:
'[Adam,] last night you spent an hour hitting on Frank Miller!'
To which I replied, 'Only intellectually.'
The lovely thing was that, moments after that scolding, Miller himself sauntered in, picked a barstool right beside me, and resumed our convo from the night before.