Because I'm a grammar fiend, I couldn't let this typo go unchallenged:
wherein a topics.
Some romantic part of my mind wants to think of the whole bruhaha as, well, kind of Mayberry. Quaint. And, with luck, ultimately to the benefit of all.
Ok, on the one hand, we have all of these totally legitimate philosophical theories about the nature of regulation, private property, law enforcement, yadda yadda yadda.
And, on the other hand, on the ground, let's be real: we get all these legacy technicalities in the law and, in practice, they often wind up just being the mechanism that forces there to be a, well, conversation.
Club owners and cops, I think we all recognize, at the end of the evening, pretty much have each other's backs. You know that. They know that. Your bouncers know that. Your bartenders and wait-staff know that. And, heck, probably 90% of your patrons know that. The beat cops in your neighborhood know that. But there's only so many ways to really talk about it, in an official capacity, without running afoul of this or that legal gotcha. And this is, really, their last chance for quite a while to insist on that conversation.
Is a club more or less work for the cops? A net plus or minus to civil order? It can obviously go either way: "plus" when the resulting street life and economic activity contribute to vitality, eyeballs on the scene, numbers of responsible stakeholders, etc.; "minus" when it's just a cheap gin-joint happy to take anyone's money so long as there's a net profit. What's your orientation, particularly in light of the original licensing process sunshine your fame cast? Well, I know, and you know, Mr. Whitehat, but... don't act so surprised that sheriff Andy wants to raise the question with a throaty cough.
I'll bet you get the license, in the end (sexual imagery unintended and completely denied). Chin up, hang in there, and don't forget to tip your hat like a proper gent. And, to the thin blue line folks: get real -- your resident blight/dead-zone fighter here is friend, not foe.