Tucked a good stumble away from the Rogers Park strip of Clark Avenue, most of the regulars at this nicotine stain of a working man's dive aren't the talkative bunch. Shoulders and eyes affix so sunken to the two 13-inch tube televisions that loom over a shrouded landing strip of a bar that you can feel the pressure of the weight of blue collar Chicago that created the place.
Yet as with any good dive, the bartendresses tend to $2 drafts and won't sling a pint until they know your name and story, and enough faded nostalgia hugs the walls, from '85 Bears shots to model WWII airplanes, that do a spirit lift good, if the pool table in the back or a free jukebox push of Wayne "Waltz" Kings "Paradise" doesn't find you on the up-and-up. The "What you should weigh" scale, though, stay away.
Centerstage Reviewer: Gavin Paul
