When I walked in I was overwhelmed by a powerful, warm gravitas that filled me with fantastic emotions for which our shared language has no name. I sought out the source of this profound presence and was directed to the bartender known as Levi. The gentle force of his scintillating personality surrounded me as I sat down at the bar like the smell of grandma's apple pie wafting through the house on Thanksgiving day. I needed no words to convey my order; he looked upon me and weighed my soul within his eyes, and I knew that he was aware of who I was, who I had been, and who I would become. Most importantly, he also knew my drink order. Oh, the drinks! The elixirs he creates bear the moniker of "margarita", but generations of linguists have postulated that only in the languages of uncontacted Amazonian tribes does there exist a single word that can describe the sensation that exists within your mouth, belly, and soul when you sip on Levi's legendary libations. The Olympians in their sky-bound palaces weep in jealousy at us mere mortals who are blessed enough to partake of Levi's concoctions, their own mythical nectar and ambrosia a pale imitation of the alcoholic revelations he places atop the bar. The wisdom he distributes is the kind that can be found only in the lined faces of every culture's oldest and most respected sages. His jokes create true hilarity--a temporary, cheerful insanity as your mind struggles to comprehend how one man's witicisms rewrite the definition of humor. His tall tales told late into the night would make Aristophanes himself put down his pen in despair at ever making people laugh as hard or as genuine. After your sides ache and the tears run down your cheeks, Levi brings you back to Earth with his willful and purpose-driven activity as he endeavors, and succeeds, in making each patron feel as if they are attending a seminar on the things that make them feel most at home. The drinks and conversation will flow like the steady, thunderous streaming of a mighty river, and carve deep canyons into your troubles until they melt away like the last bitter snows of winter as the spring returns your world to vibrant life. You will not only lose track of time when sitting across from him, but wish that no clocks, no sunset, no moonrise existed--only an endless present spent in his company. Alas, closing time must come. And when it does I watch him take his earned, fair portion and exit through the back door, with a smile, a wave, and a promise to return. And in that moment, I can never help but turn to my fellow patrons and say "There goes my hero; watch him as he goes."