We knew a fellow from Arkansas who stepped out with women who were not, technically, single. He said the best bars have no front windows. The Great Escape does that concept one better: The parking's out back, so passersby can't even spot your wheels from Indian School Road. Inside, the ATM's broken. The popcorn looks wicked old. Want a draft? It's Bud or Miller. A couple years back, a bear of a man tended bar here while watching Cartoon Network, and some guy gave us crap about our taste in music. Seemed promising. But then the other night, a trim, silver-haired gent introduced himself and thanked us for playing the jukebox. Aaaaah, we thought. They're getting soft. Place's losing its edge. Then our new friend leaned in and hooked his thumb back toward the rowdies at the next table: "If they start," he said, "just get outta the way." Yesssss! The Dive abides.