This "slashie" liquor store is an exercise in storefront schizophrenia. The right-side half is a nice, well-lit, well-stocked and competently run liquor store. The selection of beer and wine is good, and you're just far enough away from the Ground Zero of alcohol abuse that is Wrigleyville to not pay out the nose for your sixer and bottle of Cabernet.

However, cross over into the bar and you take a left-hand turn into darkness and despair. A long, sparsely lit room runs straight backwards, with old beer advertising the only design touch. A pool table, jukebox, some busted stools and a TV that goes to static every time the El rides overhead make up the rest of the "appeal" to the place.

Some dive bars can be fun just because they're so beat up and unloved and dingy. This one more or less sucks the life out of you. The hardest of hard core divers will enjoy the place for its sheer barrenness, and the bartenders’ willingness to pour shots at the drop of a hat. Unless we absolutely have to have a drink the moment we get off the train, the rest of us will probably rather go a block north to Holiday Club or a couple south to Wrigleyville.

Centerstage Reviewer: Karl Klockars