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Walking into Harling's mens' room is like being gassed with a hundred years of piss particles. It's nasty in there, man -- one of the city's worst. On a bad night, it's better to just hold it.
It's probably my favorite bar in the city.
Well, what can you do? Every drink is like two dollars, the bartenders are friendly, there's just the right amount of seediness about the place. They have ping-pong. There's no downstairs, and the upstairs overlooks my favorite stretch of Main Street. They have that weird back room that's stacked to the ceiling with old bar furniture and other assorted shit. Harling's doesn't give a fuck. You gotta respect that. So you just have to hold your breath, ignore the stench and let the good times roll.
Silver lining: the urinals that run all the way down to the floor. They stopped making those a long time ago. Takes me back.
This window is above one of the two toilets, and you can see straight out onto the deck where people smoke. Not an ideal situation for tall urinators.
Ooh and what about the ladies' room? That's a legit vintage sign right there.
The ladies room has a larger, nicer sink than the mens'. More surface area. For setting purses on, I guess?
And way more toilet paper. Otherwise, they're completely identical -- no fancying things up for the ladies. Which I respect. With Harling's, it's all about respect.
And this has been ... Where We Pee.