For almost 60 years, the bar stools at the Hideaway have served as the perfect shrink's couch for the somber imbiber. Saddle up to the bar, light a smoke if that's your thing, throw down a modest sum of cash and soak up the dark, dank vibes seeping from the smoke-stained, marooned walls. If a friendly barmaid is too busy to lend an ear, the always-accommodating owner Al Coco is holding court at the south end of the bar — willing to chat with anyone so inclined. You may walk into the Hideaway bummed and broken, but don't be surprised if you soon find yourself on the dance floor with a stranger, smiling and swaying to the tear-stained vibes of long-time house organist Mark Dew.
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