I’m not sure what it is, but for some peculiar reason I feel drawn to dive bars. There is something endearing and homely about them. When I go out drinking, I want to be able to sit down at the bar and not have to fight my way through the masses of drunkards for a $4 beer. The barkeep is easily accessible and the booze flows more readily. The music is ten times more bearable than some hair-gelled, fake tan, douchey, over-compensating techno club.
I seek comfort in overused dartboards, uneven pool tables and split cue sticks. The occasional stale beer in a dirty mug apparently has a profoundly reassuring effect on me. And of course, the unfortunate young ladies that are commonly lured in by their miscreant boyfriends. The faces on those poor girls as they enter these type of establishments is amusingly priceless. Its as if they crossed over into a separate dimension where sexual deviants, drunken degenerates and switchblade-wielding drug addicts reign supreme. The sudden shock of this scene can send an unsuspecting innocent lady dashing toward the exit while clutching her purse in menacing horror.
Well, its probably not that bad. But I can tell you for a fact, that most are completely repulsed. The trauma inflicted is not easily reversed nor healed.
But I always seem to have an enjoyable time…