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It is not often that
we are actually depressed by a bar, but Sandy's disturbing mix of
sagging, plastic Bud Light banners, worn, frat house couches and one
coin-op pool table could make Richard Simmons want to slit his wrists.
As if that wasn't enough, take a look outside at the angry, gray commuters
inching across the 59th Street bridge and you'll want to just throw
yourself down a well. While we were there, the bored bartender (a
bartender being one who actually tends to the bar) sat and watched
Three's Company re-runs on the big screen TV with the sound loud enough
to drown out the jukebox. Want a beer? You'll have to fight with Chrissy's
baby-tee for the bartender's attention. Recommended only for those
who have nothing left to live for. [MF]
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