Last Friday, I found this guy sadly sitting on the curb on Houston Street. He seemed pretty bummed to be all alone on a Friday night, so I picked him up and took him for drinks at Mars Bar. What could possibly go wrong?
He seems a bit flashy for the joint, but Mars is known for welcoming freaks of all shapes and sizes.
My new friend orders a beer and water, then demands money for the jukebox.
He really hits it off with one of the Regulars...
After a few drinks, the urge to stand on the bar and launch into a tirade about gentrification becomes irresistible:
Friends, drunks, gentlemen, lend me your ears!
I come to bury the East Village!
The evil that men do lives after them,
The good is oft forgot with their cheap architecture;
So let it be with Mars!
Erm, something, something, something. Then, the dreaded moment arrives...the one every Mars patron has feared at some point...
Behold! The most horrific place on Earth!
Ah, but our friend is fortified with enough beer to conquer the most hostile environment.
I go out to get us some falafel, but take longer than expected. When I return, I find my friend unconscious in the corner, face-down, with what looks like several bullet holes in his back. I ask around to see what happened, but no one says anything except for a shadowy figure at the end of the bar who grumbles something about bad taste in music.
What song on the Mars jukebox could possibly induce such violence? I guess we'll never know...
Good night, and thanks for the memories!
See more photos on my Flickr page.