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This venue is closed.

Hush! Don’t tell anyone. But in a desolate part of town dominated by car dealerships, there’s a basement gents joint that comes across as a zippy used hatchback when compared to the gleaming, money-guzzling luxury sedans that are the Hustler and Penthouse clubs. With a banging sound system and a sick aqua-blue paint job, this is not your grandfather’s strip club. Using both poles on the small step-up stage, the dancers defy gravity (as best they can given the low ceiling) in a quest for a few greenbacks from the ballers in jerseys and Yanks caps leaning back in a smattering of low-riding club chairs. A clear slit strategically placed in frosted glass offers an enticing peep into the small VIP room, but don’t count on seeing straight after a plastic cup of Electric Lemonade, a version of a Long Island Ice Tea that incorporates blue curacao to match the color of just about everything else here including the lights which are so bright you might not wonder why more than one dude is wearing shades. — Daniel Maurer

$10-$20 cover