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Unfortunately the name
of this joint is very apropos. It made me feel very sad--mainly for
this Finnegan guy, as nobody bothered to show up for his funeral.
All seven ancient patrons in this very Irish pub looked like they
were just biding their time until the Grim Reaper popped by for a
visit. Granted, it's always hard to tell if bars on the UES are alive
or just convulsing like a fried con in the electric chair. This one
was certainly flatlining from the moment we walked in until the moment
we took our depressed asses out to another dreadful UES pub. At least
the bartender was respectful, and the place was as quiet as a morgue
so we could hear the ticking of our watches as our time here on earth
ebbed away. [MF]
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