Long, long ago in a Manhattan far, far away, there were neighborhood bars full of legitimate drunks, headbangers, off-duty cops and foozball players, all grouped together for one legitimate purpose: getting wasted. Fortunately, one hallowed tavern in TriBeCa carries on that legendary tradition, where for a few bucks you can get a good stiff drink, where the bartender will get drunk with you, where you are guaranteed to hear at least one AC/DC song, and where you never know who you might rub elbows up against—or whose elbows might be the ones lifting you off the floor from your puddle of vomit. This is that kind of place.