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This venue is closed.

“Wild Women! Cheap Drinks!” crows the sign outside of this dirty dive that oozes sleaze from its bubble-wrap sheeted, neon-lit exterior. It shows that the owner used to have a hand in a topless club: The small bar is stocked nightly by a dozen scantily clad, multi-culti barmaids, some of whom can barely squeeze between the space between the chipped bar and the walls where busty mannequin torsos and “I HEART Intercourse” signs hang over a mirror etching of the NYC skyline. This is heaven for the motley crew of lonely immigrants and burly union guys who get sweet talked or brow-beaten into pounding shots of top-shelf tequila with the girls, who flash flesh as they accept their tips (or simply in response to the internet jukebox that lets patrons download anything). If the feeding frenzy in the narrow front area isn’t for you, there’s a pool table in the small back room, but expect the pushy B-girls, who work on commission, to come over and grab your stick. — Daniel Maurer