Manhattan is full of self-consciously trashy rock bars with in-it-for-life barmaids, and those bars are often full of Manhattanites. For those who want the de rigueur amenities—motorcycle gas tanks and pictures of hotrods and scantily clad ladies on the walls—without the mobs, this joint in a nightlife nether-area is an honest place to grab cheap pints of Bud Light and pump quarters into a jukebox to play heavy metal and 70s rock. Biker-types of both sexes can be found at the always-busy billiard table, tending to shun the video games and the nine TVs flashing sporting events. Every inch of the walls is cluttered with kitsch, from wooden clogs to snowboards. But if the walls are crowded, the stools, even on a Saturday night, are alluringly empty.
Picnics with a view, roller-skating nostalgia, and a party for gay headbangers.