When I walked into Clooney's Pub at noon, no one at the bar turned around to check the door. The regulars had long since taken their seats at the bar, the baseball game was on, and the guy playing pool by himself under the illumination of a Budweiser light was focused on his shot. The stools, with green carpeted backs, looked grimier than BART seats. If we weren't in the heart of the Mission, it would be an unexpected place to get a... More >>>