Jonathan T.
Yelp
Somewhere in between Middle Earth and Hell resides the divey-est of dives aka Lion's Lair. And if you enjoy weird, questionable adventures like me then, well, something is terrifyingly wrong with you. (So we can be friends.)
Upon entering, you'll have that sudden urge to retreat out the door, so repress that fearful intuition of yours. My inner voice? It screamed, "Run, Jon. Run back to the hotel and go to sleep on that fantastic king-sized bed." But I told my North Star, or whatever was inside of me, to shut the heck up because I had two goals in mind that night:
1) Dranks! I need them.
2) Will I see peanut butter wrestling at Shotgun Willy's?
Motivation, yo. Mo-tiv-a-tion.
****
The interior of Lion's Lair doesn't go the whole nine when entertaining the King of the Jungle theme, unfortunately. I mean, aside from the homage to a circus and lion in the front, the inside just has one lion head painting hanging on of their walls. Oh, and they have LEAPORD PRINT curtains on the stage. (It was such a disappointment.) However, they do redeem themselves with their illuminating Pabst sign, sketchy bathrooms with urinals covered in stickers, and throwback wood paneling.
Regarding their drinks, as anyone visiting a dive would expect, they don't hurt the good ole' wallet, but they do hurt da brain. They're plenty robust and help with rocking out to metal renditions of Miley Cyrus, which I, maybe, liked. (I mean, I'd follow the guy on Spotify if he had one.) I banged my head to dem jams and got enough blood pumping to head to Denver's best strip club.
The only thing stopping you from getting a drink is that your bartender might be temporarily absent since he'll probably be smoking a cig outside for long periods of time. (At least, that's what he told us.)
Thanks for a memorable time, Lion's Lair. I'll have to get some blood work done in the future, to check for any diseases I may have contracted there, but fuggit. I had fun.
Cash only.