Iron Horse 32 Cliff St. Fulton & John Sts.
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In the desert of high-end Wall Street bars downtown, there lies one oasis of true debauchery: the dirty dive known as the Iron Horse. The place is cheap in every sense, from the $2 cans of Rolling Rock to the unbelievably inebriated chicks humping the stripper pole mounted on the bar. Their efforts are at least well rewarded—with jungle juice poured straight into their mouths by the surprisingly attractive barkeep. She's actually the focus of the joint, good for everything from acrobatic performances on the permanent swing to friendly and engaging conversation. Whether you're down for a fun little show or pounding 21 shots of Jameson, you'll feel right at home at Iron Horse, where there are no rules and no bars held—except perhaps by those still trying to stand.