Psychologically damaging, speakeasy-style locker in the basement of a former rust merchant. Clientele are not encouraged. Once seated in the claustrophobic iron bunker, a harmonic tone designed to keep you on the edge of nausea is played. The earplugged bartenders then thrust liquids at you at their whim. Riding high on the scene having been recently voted Vice Magazine’s “Most Penis-y night out (Europe)”.
Best drink: “There is no English word for this, but it means you are engorged by failure.”
Dress code: Relaxed, as long as it incorporates a still-live organism.