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Dark Room whispers in
my ear. It says thing like, "you're already drunk; why not spend some
time inside me?" and "it's only a few steps down, my friend, come
indulge your darkest yeast-related fantasies." Why a bar would spend
its time seducing a perfectly willing schmendrik like me is only another
one of its mysterious draws. Before you get the idea you're about
to embark on a trip to Houdini's special Loch Ness Monster cabal or
something, let me tell you that this place ain't nothin' but a good,
old-fashioned subterranean lounge. But as far as dives go, this one's
beyond stanky reproach. It is a space not unlike that shady fraternity's
basement that always smelled vaguely of weed and date rape. It is
truly a dark room. There are some big booths and tables spread around
the periphery of the interior--perfect for drunken chats and canoodling
whatever it is you canoodle. There is a funny slumming hipster vibe
going on--like LESers and Brooklynites on holiday from their lives
where they can drink Budweisers and Jack 'n Cokes incognito, while
a deep track from Rush plays on the juke. And their slim-jeaned friends
are none the wiser. [MF]
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