I haven't been to WO HOP in a long time. It was that end of the night place, where you went at 3am, 4am, and beyond when you had to fill your gut with enough Chinese grease to slide the Great Wall into the Yangtze — uphill, yet. Those nights have blended together into one neverending course of MSG. The first time I saw Mason Reese was at WO HOP (in the middle of the night, of course). He was eating with someone that looked like it could have been his brother. It probably was his brother. I couldn't imagine another human being looking like that that wasn't a relative. I'm pretty sure I still have my WO HOP t-shirt somewhere. It got a lot of use, though I'm not sure if I ever wore it there (besides, that would be tacky). It was the kind of place when you left you'd have to watch your step to avoid the pools of vomit from the drunks that could't keep their WO HOP goodness down.
I took this with the Yashica-Mat. I really need to come back with the SWC to really take in the full glory of this entryway. I really need to come back when I'm awake and write a better paean to WO HOP.
Goodnight WO HOP, wherever you are (oh, I guess that would be 17 Mott Street).
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