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[CLOSED]
Where horrible folk singers go to die — or at least suffer a little while trying to croon over the din of drunken frat boys and flying peanuts. This has to be the only place in all of New York City that has sawdust on the floor and requires patrons to throw their trash on the ground, or risk ejection. A little haven for the redneck in all of us. [MF]
155 Bleecker St.
