It's 7 o'clock on a Thursday night.
Outside, the damp pavement is steaming from an afternoon interspersed with showers and intense summer sun. Puddles line the curbs.
When the door opens, the cacophonous roar of multitudinous conversations rolls into the street.
"It'll be about two hours," says the hostess to an older, well-dressed couple inquiring about a table.
They walk toward the bar, quickly disappearing into the crowd.
The vintage-looking bar at Fork & Balls is stacked four deep with a wide array of people: 20-somethings in skyscraper platforms and short dresses, 40-something professionals in office-casual apparel, middle-aged couples in shorts and polos, and one dude straight out of a surf shop ad.