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Over a zebra-striped dance floor, luminous red disks dangle like space mushrooms. Nearby, giant, curving pillars loom up like brontosaurus ribs from behind one of three Plexiglas bars. Clearly this is a place which can summarily prove that Manhattan Avenue—not just the namesake borough—has its decadent, futuristic pleasure domes. Granted, many of the stiletto-heeled girls quaffing mojitos, watching videos imbedded in their tables, and bouncing to the throb of house music are speaking Polish. Yet unlike its nearby rival Club Europa (permanently entrenched by Euro-cheese), Club Exit also caters to a new and different wave of immigrants: those forced north by Williamsburg’s rising rents. On Friday nights, outside promoters such as Todd P are inviting noise rock acts and scroungy scamps to experience the slamming sound system and otherworldly decor. — Keach Hagey