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I'm not really sure
what to say about this place other than I think my fraternity basement
might have actually been a little classier. Now this, my house's basement,
had a bar top made from pennies, some strange broken arcade-like equipment
and a dj booth built for hobbits and bound pledges. Walter’s
had, um, some nice fake brick, maybe a pool table, a couple dingy
dart alleys and some other crap that I thought I better not touch.
I know they say you can't catch syphilis from plastic and/or wood,
don't they? Well, regardless of what I think about communicable diseases
and their ability to cling to synthetics and dead foliage, I thought
I aught not come into contact with anything not hosed down by bleach
or strafed by napalm. Granted, I don't think anything could have stuck
to the fake brick walls or clung to the beer-soaked bar, but I did
detect some sort of fishy organism crawling around the rancid commode.
Sure, I'm exaggerating a little bit, but to say the joint could use
a maid service is certainly a monumental understatement. From what
I could tell, this is a family-owned dive bar that services early
morning drunks and extreme spillover from MSG events. It's short on
frills and high on domestic beer and camaraderie. Despite the lack
of clean I managed to emerge without any open sores or uncomfortable
drip, so I consider the experience a success. [MF]
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