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Outside, the streets bump and buckle like 1980s Beirut but inside, thanks to car part light fixtures, a pressed-tin ceiling and the rose brocade wallpaper, this cavernous, bare-brick space conjures up an atmosphere of languid libertinism that’s more like 1890s New Orleans. As the name suggests, Wreck Room is something akin to a punk-rock community center: Pool tables and vintage video games offer stimulation on those rare nights when DJs aren't spinning slinky industrial jams or when bands aren't playing gritty trash rock. During the latter nights (mostly weekends), a double-doored buffer confines the din to the back room with its delightfully over-the-top tropical mural and thereby leaves the eerily indistinguishable boys and girls in black T-shirts to their earnest, tallboy-fueled conversations about the art of making 'zines. — Keach Hagey

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