twin peaks redux...

as an individual who could not be less interested in 'gentlemen's clubs,' valet parking, high covers, bodies by Doctor Lotsatits, and the general 'vacuum your wallets by soulless auto-matrons that occurs in such establishments, most of the Haven's reviews promised the opposite...a retro, down home dive hosted by real girls in a laid back atmosphere of old fashioned humanity...upon entering the last, old section of a half block row house just off the Pulaski hiway, you are greeted on your left, by a bar extending the full length of the dark, narrow joint...curiously the TV you may wish to view is located directly behind you, at the far end of the bar...and the gurl's tiny stage, surrounded by an old fashioned porch rail, is also directly behind you at the near end of the bar, by the entrance...a preposterous set up unless you are an owl or linda blair in the midst of her exorcism...the two, smelly lost souls who inhabited the stage end of the bar with yours truly duly tipped the well north of forty patchwork specimens whose mismatched body parts were less dis-concerting than ghoulish...the beer-all three cat piss varieties-was cold, cheap and easy to quaff as i flew out the old wooden door over the stone steps out onto the mean streets of Baltimore, never to return....