The tavern (or "The Only Hotel", as it is modestly known) is the only establishment in Penatrata where foreigners can legally spend the night, if you exclude the prison. In fact, overnight clients are scarce, and most of the business comes from the bar, which caters to the migrant labour dormitories in the vicinity. Few regular Penatrata inhabitants spend time in the place.

It is built from two freight containers, welded one on top of the other. The restaurant has a lovely, shiny, wooden floor. There always seems to be someone polishing it, trawling up and down the long space, day in, night out. The further end is rather dark, that is where the whispering tables are, you approach them at your own peril, to be quickly shooed off. There is a constant coming and going of people, a cursory nod, a low murmer of negotiation and exchange.

There is a radio above the bar. Penatrata has one radio station, and it plays one, single, same song, over and over again, sung by hundreds of different people, played by hundreds of different bands, the same basic tune twisted through endless variations.

The lyrics are as follows, to a tune reminiscent of "Puff the Magic Dragon" :

"Lawrence the Lazy Lizard,
 Took rooms by the coast,
 And breakfasted on red hot scones,
 And dreams of buttered toast."