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If there ever was a spot to indulge that little voice in your head that just wants to scream a righteous "Fuck it all!," 119 is it. The main room is pitch black, thunders with the sweet sounds of G 'n' R (plus classic funk and soul) and reeks of years' worth of beer sweat mixed with Marlboro smoke. The other two rooms seem to have taken aesthetic inspiration from frat house rec rooms: fake wood paneling, ratty couches, sallow lighting. The bathrooms feel disturbingly like bunkers. But if you wanted Philippe Starck urinals and a ponyskin divan, you'd be at one of a dozen other places in these parts. You're here to drink, so get to it. — Jenifer Van Vleck

Hustle at your own risk! 119 has one of the toughest pool tables in town.