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Oh
to be in the B Bar in its hey day. Oh to be sassy or gay or both.
The B Bar used to be filled to the brim with strapping young lads
in tight, shiny shirts, loads of thumping disco and even the occasional
second-rate celeb. Now, the joint is filled with, well, the likes
of Mr. Hipster. This doesn't bode well for the hip/chic factor of
the place--The King isn't exactly fabulous. We're sure it's
not a horrible place to hang out, but its annoying reputation precedes
it and the fuckin' disco won't die. The bartenders at the large oval
bar were reasonably responsive, and the high-ceilinged space was packed
with long tables filled with chattering drunks--creating a din that
almost drowned out The Weathergirls. The drinks aren't cheap,
and we can only assume that the food isn't either. All in all, there
was something creepy about hanging out at this place. We can't put
our finger on exactly what it is, but there's something plastic and
scary lurking beneath its trendy facade. [MF]
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