Kozy Kar

Nob Hill, San Francisco –

It’s conceivable that someone could walk into Kozy Kar and never notice the Lite-Brite sign, the waterbeds, the Ford and Chevy truck grilles, the shag-covered benches, the mirrors, the pinball and arcade machines, the back room with its vinyl van seats, or even the wall-sized sunset beach scene...

...but even the most hard-jonesin’ alkie would notice the tits.

The place is plastered with centerfold spreads, from the shellacked bathroom floors to the bar’s countertop – and not the glammed-up, Photoshopped, modern-day centerfolds either, but classic 70s-era beauties in all their wooly glory.

As much as their Breakfast Club cliques may have hated each other in high school, the patrons at this dive are finally getting along, with hipsters, grunge rockers, gearheads, and horny frat boys alike crowding into the old vans-turned-booths for a turn on the CB radios.

Although most of the crowd is too young to remember the 80s, let alone the 70s, the venue’s old-school vibe doesn’t curtail the long lines of pubescent twenty-something partiers that form outside every Friday and Saturday night.

Regardless their age, however, guests know the good times roll on at Kozy Kar, where Chrome is for fenders, Twittering is for the birds, and the only Bush to worry about is on the bar, under a thick coat of varnish and attached to Miss September 1972.