Unfortunately the name of this joint is very apropos. It made me feel very sad–mainly for this Finnegan guy, as nobody bothered to show up for his funeral. All seven ancient patrons in this very Irish pub looked like they were just biding their time until the Grim Reaper popped by for a visit. Granted, it’s always hard to tell if bars on the UES are alive or just convulsing like a fried con in the electric chair. This one was certainly flatlining from the moment we walked in until the moment we took our depressed asses out to another dreadful UES pub. At least the bartender was respectful, and the place was as quiet as a morgue so we could hear the ticking of our watches as our time here on earth ebbed away. [MF]