GoldBar, steel bolts.
We thought we had witnessed the height of GoldBar’s arrogance when we peeped the oil paintings of the owners opening night, but walking by recently, we noticed something else: The de rigueur velvet ropes have been replaced by gold chains barely fit for blinging out a sucka MC. We would’ve photographed them, but according to not one but two plaques, there is NO PHOTOGRAPHY PERMITTED. What does this place think this is, the Vatican? And what’s next, a no flip-flops rule? —Daniel Maurer
A week after you snap a picture of GoldBar, you die.
