Description
Once a month, the more dingily denimed and Converse shoe'd among us head to the 'loin for this party started by DJ Bus Station John, who spins the sort of music you would have heard if you were alive and high on PCP in a Polk Street dive circa 1979. The wet jockstrap contest at midnight isn't aging terribly gracefully, but it's still a decent diversion after one's eighth vodka tonic, and should you have an itch to scratch, there's always the basement 'backroom,' where someone's sure to rub you the right way.
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