Shooting pool at Vasmay is like shooting pool in Tijuana (except without my mom). The table is jacked, the sticks are crusty and bent, and you gotta drink bottles ‘cuz anything off the tap will likely give you histolytica or gonorrhea.But they’ve got a great juke full of dirty old punk, original electric guitar god rippers, and rarified doo-wop oldies that growl back and wink at you. The barmaids are lippy and generous, and somehow I always end up sharkin games and meeting interesting oddball people there.
It’s a very love hate kinda place that always calls me back.
Last night met up with a friend for a supposed single beer and a game and ended up staying out, sketch party posse came round and we lit proper mischief, fired off countless games, and etched evolving obscenities on the chalk board outside, along with the board indoors for games in line.
