THE LOOM ROOM HOUSE RULES
(Break them at your own delicious risk. The feds never read this far.)

1. No photos, no flashes, no evidence.
   Memories are encouraged; proof is strictly contraband.

2. Ask for the wrong drink, get the right one.
   Our bartenders speak fluent code—shaken, not blabbed.

3. Last plate is never shared.
   Croqueta custody battles end in tears—and invoices.

4. Whisper the gossip, roar the laughter.
   Volume is measured in scandal, not decibels.

5. Phones face down, hearts wide open.
   Reception’s awful in here. (Funny how that happens.)

6. If you drop your dignity, we keep it.
   Lost-property box already full—mostly of egos.

7. Comedians speak first on Thursdays.
   Heckle at your own peril; we keep the mic and the receipts.

8. Bar tabs settle before dawn.
   Cinderella bailed at midnight—don’t push your luck, kid.

9. Loose lips sink sips.
   What you see, you didn’t. What you hear, you won’t repeat.

10. Tip big and leave quietly.
    The spirits (and the staff) appreciate both.

11. Bathtub-gin compliments accepted; bathtub-gin served—never.
    We have standards. Low ones, but still standards.

12. If someone yells “Raid!” finish your drink like a lady or gentleman.
    Then hide your glass—this ain’t our first rodeo.

13. Knock twice for entry, three times for trouble.
    Trouble’s more fun, but costs extra.