Accurately describing the walls and their artwork takes a mastery of the English language that I don’t yet possess. It’s hard to explain, but the space feels like a life-size diorama within a building-sized shoebox. Every inch of the bar is marked in some way, an array of visual stimuli almost impossible to take in. The collection of vintage bar signs alone is like a collection of easter eggs among the walls waiting for their discovery.
Massive black-lettered murals line one wall, framed pictures under the inscription “Hall of Fame” jut out in the distance, a raised platform features a striking image of what seems to be Roberto Clemente and there is more than one shrine to Rodney Dangerfield above the bar. Reasoning remains unclear, but clothespins hold a pair of boxers from the ceiling and a spray paint mural of a turntable flanks a stripper pole in the front of the building.
All of that is true even before turning the corner into the bar’s second room, which on this reviewer’s visit was set up as a skate park but it would be easy to see it serve as anything from a pop-up tattoo stand to some kind of hipster Sunday morning farmer’s market. The dive bar’s second stage commands the front of the room, also with a strangely located blue cushioned booth. And of course there are dart boards, always dart boards.