Along one of the interior walls of Seattle’s Central Saloon rests a small picture of Chris Cornell. Cornell’s face is expressionless. His hair is long and curly, one of his legs hangs over the end of a guitar case as he sits at the top of a brick landing. The picture looks like a publicity shot, probably taken in 1991 or ’92, somewhere around the time he decided to grow out his mustache. The saloon itself is tiny. There are only about 15 people here on this particular night, and even then it’s cramped. The bar — which stretches nearly the entire length of the building — is crowded with artwork. Posters for tattoo parlors are plastered along the walls behind the counter. A life-sized Navy man statue stands on a rounded shelf overlooking the patrons. He’s shirtless, also covered in tattoos. There’s a stage behind him, further back toward the end of the building and near what looks like a makeshift dining hall. The word “Central” is illuminated on a curtain in large lettering above a drum kit. The Central Saloon prides itself on being the oldest bar in Seattle. That slogan (“Seattle’s Oldest Saloon”) greets you in colored… Read full this story
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