Profile

The TVs no longer show porn, but little else seems to have changed over the twenty years this gay dive—with a salacious reputation—has been around. The narrow, two-level bar exists as a sort of cheesy house party until midnight, when the place suddenly fills up and things get serious. Chick-power ballads blast and a handshake for strangers becomes a pinch on the ass. The infamously active downstairs pissers don't seem large enough to use even for their intended function, and there's often an older gent camped on the bench just outside, like a rustler inspecting passing cattle.
— John Metcalfe