Like the American backpackers in the movie from which "The Slaughtered Lamb" derives its name, I simply muttered "what the bloody hell kinda name for a pub is 'The Slaughtered Lamb'." Regardless, we entered. On the wall, by what may be perhaps the tiniest bathroom in all of Manhattan, is a poster of An American Werewolf in London.
Continue reading: An American Werewolf In London Review
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