Casey U.
Yelp
Its beautiful to be back.
The space is restored, but they kept everything that hadn't rotted away. The bartop, they kept. The back-bar, they refurbished. The ceiling, that gorgeous ceiling that nobody had ever seen? You can see it. The mosaics formerly hinted at in the floor are clean and clear. The bathrooms? Finally usable, but soon to be covered up with stickers, I'm sure.
The front window that never opened? They took out the dart board and put in some stools and now you sit in front of the window looking at Clement Street with the fog blowing in whorls. You still can't smoke on the patio (and I remember the days when you could, when I'd sit and drink with the Australian writer and smoke American Spirits Green Label and grade papers), but you can order from your phone. The pool table is gone, and in its place are arcade machines: Marvel vs Capcom, Area 51, Tetris!
What's still there are the bones: A nice place to drink, loud punk music, friendly folks in the room, bartenders who are as comfortable with a shot and a beer as they are with a luscious Manhattan. They take credit cards now, and PBR is 4$ instead of the 2 it used to be, but goddamn, it feels like the 540 Club that was my home for years. It feels like the place I spent the pandemic mourning. Stepping in was the first moment of immersion in a steam room, the chill in my bones that I hadn't realized was there melting away with a cold beer and a tepid whiskey.
Its beautiful to be back, and nice to be home, and as casualty of the pandemic raises from the dead, I feel slightly more alive among the now blue walls, wit the loud punk music blasting, with my friends behind the bar.
As we used to chant long ago, back when there were still dollar drink Mondays, Tim Lincecum popping in, and Friday Night Happy Hours that crackled with joy and life:
540 Pride till' you fucking die!