Try the pool table

After all the clubs after all these years, you'd think I would know better. I went to the Raven on a Sunday afternoon anyway. Why?

The answer, of course, is that perverted brain of mine is ever hopeful. It believes against reason that any given Sunday, like in football, can result in victory where the Raven reverts to its glorious past and my pants drop to my ankles for hot girls who fuck.

That hasn't happened since the Covid vaccine was a hot commodity. Oh no. For the past several years, the best you could say about the Raven has been the men's room isn't a sty anymore.