Drunkard is an older form of the noun "drunk," which, according to my Concise Oxford English Dictionary, means "deprived of proper control of oneself by alcoholic liquor." Unlike its modern shortened form, it is not a word one hears used much these days, which gives it a slightly old-fashioned, almost anachronistic air. As such, it makes a perfect name for a soulful little neighborhood bar with an interesting history.
Many moons ago, two young, island-hopping surfers and drunkards -- one Japanese and one third-generation Japanese-American -- ended up living next door to each other in Hawaii. Twenty years ago, the former returned to Japan and opened a bar to keep the spirit of those magic years in Hawaii alive. Not long after, the latter also arrived and became a regular at his old friend's bar. Then, two years ago, when Makoto (or Mak, as Drunkard's creator was known) sadly passed away, Paul, his old friend, joined forces with two other regulars to keep the spirit of the bar and Mak's memory alive.
The warmth of this story is still evident at Drunkard. Most nights as midnight approaches morning, one will find this cozy, softly lit street-front haunt peopled with couples and small groups of co-workers. Its modest railroad-carriage proportions rise to surprisingly lofty heights. Plain white plaster walls are adorned with large mirrors behind the bar and lined with an interesting assortment of framed black-and-white photographs on the wall opposite. Above, two sturdy wooden beams traverse the length of the ceiling.