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Unless you’re a member in good standing with one of the three main cliques that call this dump home, forget about it. Insular, pretentious, haughty little fucks that are the mirror image of the douchey Late Night Shots crowd act as the designated in-group gatekeepers. Watch out for androgynous betaboys knocking over drinks with their ubiquitous satchels, and heavily made up punkrock girls asking for blow or change for the cigarette machine. If you’re not a scenester or haven’t banged at least one chick from each clique, don’t expect to hook up here. The guys are limpdicked betas but they’re scattered everywhere, like fey hipster pylons blocking you off from the pussy with their feeble perimeter defenses. The girls have perfected the art of the wary sidelong glance and righteous sneer. But hey, they’re cute, so if you like getting aloof attitude from cute chicks this is your venue.
Dive bar, local hangout, hip lounge-y vibe. Sounds great on paper but the reality is quite different. Go there almost any night of the week and you’ll have to weave through ten guys before finding a girl. Bedrock proves the rule that it’s Ratio Uber Alles. A bad ratio can deep six an otherwise glorious bar. This is a great place to bring a date, not find a date.
12 dollar beers
gee, another blueblood cunt
I envy the queers
great to be a girl here.
A pomade, eurotrash, expensive watered down drinks, eardrum bleeding club music grenade just exploded. Why are you taking shrapnel? Bonus: When the dry ice smoke nozzles go off right above your head the noise is so piercingly loud it will cockblock you.
This is the Dr. Jeckyl/Mr. Hyde bar. Before midnight – pickup heaven. After midnight – sucks. Would you like to fuck the law in practice as well as in revolutionary spirit? This place is for you — it’s overrun with lawyer chicks. It’s also overrun with aspiring pickup artists roaming the premises like horny jackals. Lawyers. PUAs. It’s almost poetic. Safety tip: The roof deck becomes unnavigable later in the night. If there’s a fire and you’re caught in the middle of that clusterfuck, you’re dead.
Tryst has done the impossible — a bar/coffeehouse filled to the brim with cute chicks who are totally unapproachable thanks to its maze-like seating arrangement. There is no way to look cool walking up to a girl sitting on a couch a mile away and protected on her flanks by bustling servers and antique furniture set at inconvenient angles. The feng shui here is very anti-player. Tryst’s cloyingly hip website makes me VOM a lot outside my mouth.