Throw your skin cream in the fire and head to Steve’s Place. It’s a bar in the Greektown Detroit area, just next to Saint Andrew’s Hall. There is no other place like it. Steve is the proprietor, although Ithink he might just be a front for the greek mafia, but he is sweet old Greek man, on his last legs.
Beyond the twilight zone-esque ambiance of the place, they have a street musicsian named Travelin’ Blues that playes some really authentic sounding stuff. raspily wretching his vocal chords as he smacks his well-played guitar. His real name is Steve, also.
A few months back I went in there. Steve was gone and a non-english speaking Greek guy was working the bar. I asked to cash out and he brought me two more beers. I found out that Steve was in the hospital with some kind of infection. It took me a couple weeks but I came back with a gift; I intended to go see him. The non-speaking Greek guy said he’d be back the following day. I decided to wait. I didn’t make it the next day but I did the next weekend. I sat with Steve as he at his salad. He looked like he was about to cry, but that was just the old struggling man glaze in his eyes. I think he is too tired to cry. I don’t have the time to explain it now, but if you live near Detroit, head to Steve’s Place. Tell his wife Sophie I said Hi.
