"It's on Ossington, It must be cool."
No.
Nothing screams "I have my daddy's credit card, so I can buy drinks" like one of the rat-faced, nose-jobed suburbanites that crowd around the tables in the front room of this space.
A quick wander into the back room is like visiting a high school dance party complete with outdated music, poor hairstyles and overdone makeup.
It's almost as if they used a tractor-beam to yank every kid from Thornhill to this quintessential bridge-and-tunnel bar.
Having Brooklyn Lager on tap was the saving grace for this establishment, although this no longer seems to be the case. It's a shame to watch a bar open with such potential and then watch it turn into a cliched post-high school hangout.
Shark City South.