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What assholes dreamt
this place up? To call this place a library is an insult to books
everywhere. One moldy, paperback copy of The Client doesn't
turn a shithole into a place of higher learning. Lots of smoke, pretentious
East Village bartenders and the stink of dry-heave doesn't make a
cool bar either. The library theme here goes about as far as the bartender's
counting abilities. One $5 beer plus one $4 beer doesn't equal $16
in any universe I've ever been in. So the belly-shirted beer slinger
tries to take advantage of male customers because they can (after
all, what semi-drunk, 22-year-old jackass is going to question this
statuesque beauty's adding abilities?) Us late-twenty-something married
guys have no problem calling them on it though. Oops. To further confuse
things, this place plays music at decibels not heard since David Lee
Roth's bris and shows awful, fuzzy kung fu movies on a beer splattered
screen. I couldn't tell you what my college library looked like on
the inside, but if it was anything like this, I'm glad I stayed the
hell away. [MF]
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