Sometimes a man. Sometimes a man. Sometimes a red-blooded, full-grown, get-down kinda man (with some partners from Yuyintang), despite a decade of experience that suggests it's probably a bad idea, decides he wants to open a dive bar. A grotty, black and red, punk iconography laced, "dark wooden floors so you can't see the puke stains" dive bar. A "DJ regularly digresses into nostalgia and/or outright trolling" dive bar. A "leather jackets huddled menacingly over cheap beer, lurching unsteadily to their feet for whatever swing-rock or punk-march anthem seared into their forebrain from birth" dive bar. That's this place. Drinking hole for misfits and Misfits. Not that many left in Shanghai. The "bartender" is whoever's behind the counter and they'll shave their head before you catch them in a vest and bowtie. The drinks are cheap. 25rmb for a draft Tiger, 10rmb for a bottle Asahi. If you stay in Shanghai long enough, everyone gets to lose all their money either in or on a bar!
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