Dirtbag Bar For Wannabes

You walk down a dark alley. You slip past a bouncer bulging with muscles. Inside the bar, there are few lightbulbs, but these are obscured by smoke. In the shadows, cigerettes glow. You lean on the bar and put down a bill. The bartender hands you a glass full of unidentified beer. After an hour or so, the fight begins. Only licensed actors well-versed in stage combat participate. You scan the room, spotting the men in suits sitting at a large, round table smoking cigars and speaking of men with names like "Tony 'Two-By-Four' Valencio" and "Joey the Dick." In a corner, a man in a coat exchanges packets for money.

And it's all completely fake. Your own clothes--scuffed leather motorcycle club jacket, beat-up jeans, T-shirt with an obscure logo on it, have all been purchased from the bar's website. Your hair has been artfully mussed using a special hairspray. All utterly fake, all utterly safe. Everyone here is roleplaying, be they cubicle slave, supermarket checker, or medical intern.