Step 1. Go to Town Pump
Step 2. Get a pitcher of beer
Step 3. Order wings, tamales, and town chips with queso and japs
Step 4. Don’t share
Step 5. Tip well. Bar gods are watching.
No large tables for 4 or more.
Sauce selection good.
Wings were smokey and flavor was right. Not a tavern feel.
Fries were good.
Atmosphere? What fucking atmosphere?
Waitress referred to us by our drink selection. Cold wings, WTF? Did they leave them out?
No draft beer.
Fuck WLR. Finally, no draft beer & Fuck West Little Rock.
Im not going back.
Days like these call for drastic actions. The South is ravaged by natural disaster and I was ravaged by a stupid fucking hangover. Kickball was canceled and I had nothing to do. Town Pump was my beacon.
12 Ouch Hot Wings
1 Pitcher of White Russians