“Oh, no, Hank won’t talk to you,” Tawnya said to The Observer, emptying a bottle’s dregs into the bar’s only wine glass. “That’s just his style.”
Many patrons, we found, had adopted that same reticent style. “Go fuck yourself and get the fuck away from me,” George growled after we bade him hello.
“They’re gonna tear the whole place down so what the fuck are you asking me about shit for?” said a rock-faced gentleman named Ray, who lounged dozily at one end of the saloon. “Just go away.”
Others were more talkative. One demanded we share our cocaine and, when we informed him we had none, then asked for meth — though he took that request back, at once, after remembering that “meth makes you gay.”
Meanwhile, according to the article, the Mars Bar will remain open another four to six weeks.