The Pub with Pink Walls. No self-respecting visitor to Jail can afford to miss a trip to The Pub With Pink Walls. This is because The Pub is the only building in Jail where a self-respecting citizen can hope to eat, sleep, or indeed do anything at all without being violently assaulted. " Eight years ago, Jail publician Cynthia Pintits was talking to one of her rare out-of-town customers when the constant fear in the man's voice prompted her to ask him what was wrong. "The fighting," the man replied. "The robberies. The murders. The naked leperous prostitutes leaning against that wall over there. That man with one eye and a necklace of human fingers who keeps nibbling his dagger and squinting in my direction. This drunk midget trying to pick my pocket." "Oh slap him away," Cynthia said. "We do." "Yes, but it's not what I'm used to," the man replied. He paid his bill and departed, but not before a firm idea had been planted in Cynthia's brain. She had had a vision of a hitherto untapped market : the steady stream of well-to-do merchants and travellers whose itineraries forced them to spend at least one night cowering in terror in a town inhabited by cold-blooded, murderous, lecherous inebriates. Supposing she offered them an oasis, a place where their comparitively refined sensibilities would be respected, a place where they were not compelled to step over vomit first thing in the morning, surely they would flock to it? It was an inspired notion, but before Cynthia could start turning her pub into a decent establishment she faced a problem : getting rid of her regulars. Threats and persuasion would have no effect, she knew that. No amount of brute force would keep a true Jail-ite away from a place where he wanted to be. So instead of hiring a bouncer or asking politely, Cynthia set about cleaning her walls and painting them pink. Within a week, the place was deserted and she knew that the transformation of The Pub Where Cynthia Works into The Pub With Pink Walls was able to begin. Since then, the place's turnover has tripled." (from Tales of Jail by Adrian Windowbook, retured troubadour.)