Veronica Devine is padding around in her bare feet. She’s a morning person, a really funny thing for a bar owner to be.
She’s shucked her sky-high silver sandals, which she swears on a bottle of Smirnoff are as comfortable as house slippers.
She went to a customer’s wake last night and didn’t put her pretty blond head to pillow until 11 p.m., long past her 8 p.m. bedtime. Her blue eyes look like faded jeans.
It’s not yet 9 o’clock, and she’s been cleaning…
