Kitty’s Lounge

Alright, I didn’t feel particularly compelled to review until I saw the other review left here. But the idea that you’re going to like come here and get shot is absurd. Anyway, this is mostly just a good place to buy booze on Sundays.

I should have trusted that little pucker I felt as I neared my destination. «Turn back!» it squealed. When your anus, of all things, starts to talk to you, you know it ain’t good.
If there hadn’t been parking open directly across the street, believe me, I would have turned back. Every single person that walked down the street looked like they were packing heat; I would have been too, if I had one. It’s about a block from Johns’ Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore if that’s a clue…
Shortly after I arrived, I ended up talking to an off-​duty police officer who showed me his entry and exit wounds as told me the story of how he was shot behind this lovely establishment about 2 years before. Lovely, sir! «Go! NOW!!» it squeaked. Yeah, like a fool, I ignored it because I had a job to do.
You might ask yourself, «why would anyone in their right mind voluntarily come here if they cared at all about their safety?» I do liquor promotions from time to time and this was a job. I knew it was going to be a bad area, but I just didn’t know how bad.
Behind the bar, I was wooed with such thoughtful comments as, «I wanna LOVE you, baby» and «you have some really nice lips». Uh… thanks guys! A sloppy-​drunk lady who was friends with the bar tender kept blowing her boozed-​up breath in my face and getting rowdy. I think she was picking a fight with me, but I wasn’t biting. I decided to smile and ignore her.
It turns out, the same lady DID get into a fight, although it wasn’t with little ol’ me. Oh no. She had to pick a fight with the 6’5″, 350 lb black dude that looked like a line backer. Their verbal exchange sounded something like this:
Large Mean Dude: «You don’t tell me what to do! You’re the b* — you’re the one that’s lays down and gets f*ed! Not me!
Sloppy-​drunk Crazy Lady: «STFU! You don’t talk to me like that! What are you gonna do, huh?»
LMD: «I didn’t spend 16 years in the state pen to get talked to like I’m some kind of b*. You better back the f* off right now!»
SDCL: «Or what? I’m calling the cops!»
At this point, LMD pulls out a billy club and SLAMS it on the bar so loud it sounds like a gun shot.
OH S**! It was lovely folks, but I gotta run…
Meanwhile, one of the workers has grabbed my arm and started leading me out. «It’s ok,» he said, «the cops are on their way. You fine, you’re fine. Don’t worry, you’re going to be ok.»
As we get to my car he says repeatedly, «get in, lock the doors, get in lock the doors. Go straight home, don’t stop anywhere. Lock the doors, lock the doors.»
I wonder if I should have locked the doors…