Where: Angles, 2339 18th St., NW
Carded: Maybe
Cover: None
Dress: I just don’t know anymore

You know when you revisit a childhood memory and learn that it’s not what it was at all? Like finding our Mr. Rogers is a pedophile or that Snuffy beat Big Bird. That’s how I felt last weekend when I ended my night in Adams Morgan at Angles bar.

Angles is this dive bar in the middle of Adams Morgan, right across the street from Felix. It’s small, it’s dirty and it’s the perfect place to chill when you don’t feel like getting all dolled up to go to the Reef or Tom Tom. Early in my collegiate career, my guy friends and I dubbed the local dive “our place.”

We carved our initials in the first table to the left of the pool table. We knew the songs on the jukebox by heart. You get the idea. But as time went on, we drifted away from Angles. We discovered Froggy was so much closer for pool, we developed a more expensive taste and we turned 21 …

At any rate, a trip the other night was my first cameo at the Adam’s Morgan dive in a while, and the only thing I recognized was the tacky neon sign out front and the high-strung waitress behind the bar.

The place was packed and the crowd was definitely G-dubified, which was not such a bad thing. It just came as a shock to someone who was expecting to breeze in, grab a beer and a pool cue, stop at the bathroom and sit in my booth in less than five minutes.

It took longer than that to make my way to the bar, where sleazy locals sipped MGD and college freshmen sipped cosmos. I asked for a Bud Light before remembering they don’t have it. The weird thing about Angles is, they have about three beers on tap, Bass, Miller and Guinness.

I ordered a couple, made my way past the jukebox (now televised and impossible to figure out) to my booth to find our initials gone. Luckily, I was too drunk to care, so I sank down on the couch (against my better judgement, for God knows what is living under those cushions) and watched my friends play pool. Some things never change.