I stopped into this place for a beer or two just because I liked the looks of it. Call it a classy redneck joint. Rather than a rusted tin roof, license plates and stupid SEC banners (I’m looking at you Brother Jimmy’s), they’ve gone with stacks of old wax, antique concert posters and some rather awesome, dark honky-tonk lighting. Granted the bar and restaurant were completely empty the night we were there, but the atmosphere was oddly calm and sleepy in a good way. Like the kind of place a tired cowboy could nurse a beer and watch his favorite bartender wipe the glasses clean with a white rag. Anyway, I liked what I saw, but now the harbinger of that night has brought about its doom. Nobody went and now nobody will ever be able to again. R.I.P. [MF]

142 W 10th St.