Grouse and Claret - CLOSED

Snake Plissken (Escape from New York)

So you say you've been to New York huh? Not like I have, buddy. Old Snake Plissken's been to the big apple for sure -  been there, done that and rescued the goddamn t-shirt.

Now I'm here, in your freakin' city. It's not much better than that prison at its hoodlum worst, if you want my Goddamn opinion. Your cab drivers have even less freakin' class than ours. Think they're clever too, "Hey, you're Snake Plissken ain't ya? I thought you was dead me old mucker". Real choice comedians, the lot of them.
 
I'd rather not be in England, but I can't return to the US.

My problem is still the president. His people were pretty mad when they realised I'd swapped the tapes. So the bald fool sent a bunch of goons out to mow me down. Years on, here I am, still looking over my shoulder, still one step ahead.

What an ungrateful son-of-a-bitch. I saved that guy's goddamn butt, pulled him out of that high-rise hell, all his faculties in tact bar one finger. And what thanks do I get? A never-ending goddamn contract for old Snake's life, that's what. Cute, real cute.

I should've left him to the Duke.

A long time has passed, but I'm under no illusions. Time hasn't healed no wounds, and I'm still a marked man. That's why Belgravia's where you'll find me most nights. Just don't let on to the presidents' goons.

This joint I'm drinking in – The Grouse and Claret - is one of my favourites. I'm in the son of a bitch most evenings, but here's some free goddamn advice for any of you limey mothers. Don't try talking to me; I might just take you out. Don't be fooled by the eye-patch either, or try to be cute by coming in on my blind side; I still see real good – and I sense even better.

The Grouse is off the tourist routes, thank Christ. In all, the mother has four bars, one upstairs, one in the basement and two on the ground floor. There's hundreds of places to hide out and kill time, before time catches up with me and slots a goddamn cap in my backside.

Just my little joke; old Snake ain't ready to throw in the towel.

I usually sit in one of the whore-red cubicles on the ground floor facing the door, one hand on my lager, one on a gun under the table in case trouble finds me.  Well what do you think I'd be doing, playing with myself?
   
My poison is the Grouse's special weak pilsner. I only tried the stuff it because I thought it said Plisken on the pump. I thought they'd set it up special for me….

Well, screw you buddy! I never claimed to be no professor.

Anyway, turns out this stuff is just some weak muck from Germany. But it's easy drinking muck, and now I down it by the goddamn bucketful if you want the honest truth.

What else do you need to know about this joint? Nothing, if you want to stay healthy. What am I, a Goddamn tourist guide or a lethal vigilante?

Keep out of my way if you see me; meet me once, then you're dead.

Snake Plissken's rating for the Grouse and Claret – 9  / 10

Sputnikski

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