What the? It's like I walked into a Star Trek holodeck version of a desperately middle aged casino lounge, complete with patterned overkill on the decor and a smothering, velvety feel. Woah, what happened?
Stinking of shampooed carpet that reeks of two decades of cigar smoke, this place is rich on entertainment value. And who was Joe Mafia on his phone in the corner with all the loose leaf paperwork?
I dunno, but one scotch down and I'm outta here. The lonely hearts club ogling me at the bar is too much.