A couple left the bar and climbed into a nearby pickup. Nir was relieved to see the man was sporting the jeans and T-shirt look. He’d debated between this and the snap-button patterned shirt and cowboy hat, but he sensed that Houston had a different sort of vibe. It appeared he’d made a good decision.

His phone vibrated. Empty seat at bar next to him.

Nir responded with K. He got out of the truck, walked to the door, and stepped inside.

The music had quieted. Now the racket took the form of voices. The place was bigger than it looked, and it was packed. Just inside sat two poker tables, each surrounded by a full complement of eight people. Further to the right were a couple of pool tables and an empty DJ set-up complete with oversized speakers and a disco ball currently unlit. The outside wall was lined with video games and poker machines. The video games weren’t being used, but the poker machines were. The walls were covered with memorabilia from sports jerseys to neon beer signs to flags of all sorts, including a Texas state flag, various U.S. flags, and an enormous Confederate flag with a Harley Davidson on it.

It was such a mishmash of décor, Nir thought a little taste of every bar in every state in America might be there. The only constant throughout was the smell of stale beer, no doubt spilled on the wood floor.

Nir noticed a few folks watching him as he ambled to the bar, but no one seemed interested beyond mere curiosity. To his left, he spotted Imri, who was pretending to examine the label on his beer bottle.

Nir sat on a red vinyl swivel stool next to Cohen, and when he signaled for the bartender, the woman came toward him. Everything about her—from her faded apron to her sleeve tattoos—gave him the impression she’d been working this bar for the past 30 years and knew what you wanted better than you did.

Sure enough, before he could say anything, she pulled a bottle of Budweiser from a vat of ice, popped the cap with a wall opener, and set the drink in front of him.

“Thanks.” He took hold of the bottle, acknowledging the accuracy of her pick—though he would have preferred an amber Goldstar.

“I’ll run you a tab,” she said, then walked away.

On the widescreen above the bar, ESPN was previewing that night’s game between the Los Angeles Chargers and Las Vegas Raiders. Nir had spent much of his flight to the States studying American football just to prepare for this conversation, and he was feeling pretty confident. According to his prep team in Tel Aviv, the NFL was the one universal language between all bar guys.