This frat-centric basement bar is damp with shame and sticky with discarded Natty Light. It's also stuffed with bridge-and-tunnel folk who all derive comfort from the vintage photos of the NYC skyline plastering the walls. They are slamming their glasses together, toasting to having escaped the suburbs of Jersey and Long Island, even if only for a few hours. After one too many games of Beirut (that's what classy frat boys call beer pong), the photos will also serve as a reminder of their locale when their internal GPS draws a blank. The 12th step is the mark of an alcoholic who has overcome addiction. The 13th step is for frat boys who wear alcoholism like a Boy Scout badge, utterly resigned to their douchey lot in life. Or, who after one too many games of beer pong, can no longer count.