It ain't pretty. It smells like smoke. No one dances. But damn it, it feels like home. At closing time at Dr. Philgoods, we're all too attached to our own little corners, to our drinks, to our conversations, to leave until they kick us out. The dim haze of Dr. Philgoods has been around for 35 years. Time, it seems, might have hit a roadblock just short of the '90s. Some of the folks assembled around the bar have probably been regulars here for at least that long. They talk sports. They hate the Yankees with a passion, love the Marlins with regret, remember Don Shula fondly, and long for the second coming of Marino. But most of all, they miss the good old days. The dress code is simple: 1997 Florida Marlins World Series Champions T-shirts, orange and teal Zubaz, Jim Kelly jerseys, and real — yes, real — trucker's caps. Dr. Philgoods is old-school. Dr. Philgoods is South Florida's working class. They drive trucks and shoot whiskey, and they'll welcome you to their bar with a nod, but they'll kick your ass if you say America's not the greatest country on Earth. And it is. I mean, here you can get $2.50 shots of Jäger on Tuesdays, $1 domestics on Wednesdays, and $2 shots (bartender's choice) on Thursdays. Besides, happy hour is from 3 to 8 p.m. every day. It might be the Jack talking, but right now, Pompano Beach feels like paradise, and the Stars and Stripes on my drinking buddy's T-shirt sure look like the stuff great nations are made of.