Someone once called this "the best bar in Toronto".
Yes, that grand statement got me in the door to this outpost of failed promise. I really don't know why I stayed as long as I did.
You can count the cliches within the time it takes you to shotgun a can of PBR. Idiots think that they are Roger Daltry at the pinball machine.
The smell of laundered plaid whifts through the space like a veil of faux authenticity in a sea of condo dwellers and pleasant Canadiana.