It's not just anywhere that you can walk into the restroom and see an extinguished, five-inch cigar resting in the urinal. What Freud would determine about Gatsby's based on this image is open for speculation... and snickering. At the very least, it's a peek into the restaurant/cigar bar/pool hall's true identity. No matter how many guys with Yonkers accents pull up in Escalades, no matter how tall the chairs in the dining area, no matter how many mammals died to make that couch or how many brands of fine cigar are available for puffing and urinal christening, inside Gatsby's beats the heart of a sports bar. Depending upon which Gatsbys you head for, there are as many as a dozen tables in the main pool room. Eight big-screen TVs and a gaggle of smaller screens orbiting them like moons. Yes, the lush private party rooms look like they belong on the set of Clue (ooooh, red felt on the pool tables). But upon closer inspection, those TVs are Super Bowl gigantic -- and, yo, are those Reader's Digest condensed books on the shelves? You're not fooling anyone, Jack. Ditch that tie, toss back another longneck, and grope a waitress already.