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Apparently this used
to be the place to hang out late night for rock stars and drug addicts
(one and the same). That was back before the hotel woke up and figured
out it was hip and decided to ruin it for truly hip people who felt
like they were slumming it by coming to this uniquely unhip dump.
Now the place is filled with oddly baroque furniture, luxurious wood
and candlelight. Well, screw the rock stars, it's time for us normal
folk to have a place to hang out. And hang out we did. And drank.
And drank. And drank. Did I mention we drank a lot? Well, we did,
and it was nice. And it was oddly empty, but friendly, warm and still
pretty cool. An older gentleman down the bar who must have
been someone famous (of the literary type) rambled on about Alaska
or pipe tobacco or puppies or something, but sounded awfully literary
and famous in doing so. A semi-attractive middle aged woman in a fancy
outfit slowly stirred her drink with her finger and tried not to look
like the prostitute she most likely was. Actually, in a classy joint
like this, they'd probably refer to her as an "escort." The bartender
was extremely jovial and seemed to recognize almost everyone but us
as regulars (especially the "escort") and made us feel at home as
we munched on the bar pretzels and guzzled Grey Goose. He claimed
that the bar got very crowded Thursday through Sunday, so we'd suggest
coming around on a weekday evening when you can grab a stool at the
bar and enjoy the old school flavor of this very inviting hotel bar.
[MF]
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