Restaurant Fiction | Fictional Restaurant Expert | Los Angeles, CA | Food Critic

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The Terminal Bar

Lower Manhattan New York Bars in the 80s, gotta love them. The best of the best are in desolate areas incorporating sexual deviance, anti-disco vibes, and punk personas, a much better alternative for artists and other creatives other than the futon of their minimalistic lofts around St. Marks Place.

But then, there's the Terminal Bar. An anomaly of sorts situated in this scene. You see, it's an indispensable and blissful twilight zone that makes you feel like you're more in the boonies of small-town, blue-collar America than one of the biggest cities in the world.

The Terminal Bar isn't a rich people's bar. It isn't a hot and trendy bar either for the folks who are in the know. It's not as comfortable as a pub. But it is inviting enough to house any after after party and help a wayfaring stranger in need. Or just a person who feels like they're a fish out of water.

You don't even need to buy a drink to sit down, collect your thoughts, and have a smoke. It's a place to take shelter.

Hell, the Terminal Bar even has the power to slow the speedy New York minute down, which breaks all physics laws.

The Miller Lite neon signs hang on the outside, whereas the Budweiser advertisements receive the prime space inside along the fake wood paneling. Pitchers and glasses await the watered-down suds to drown anyone's conscience for making a wrong decision.

You won't find a musician who has headlined at CBGB listed on the jukebox. The pool table's felt is kept up and leveled. Extra matches rest under the cigarette vending machine in the back.

Plastic skulls adorn a broken cash register. And the good news here is that The Terminal Bar is one of the few places that still accepts the honor code when it comes to paying for a drink.

The laissez-faire attitude among the patrons and employees enhances any Terminal Bar experience. There's no good or evil. No black or white. No uptown or downtown. The Terminal Bar is one big gray area where people are just trying to figure out the mundane and ordinary even when they thought they already did.