Ah, the Plaza Tavern. The quintessential dive with a heart of gold. Nestled just far enough off State Street to keep the crowd simmering, the Plaza lures foolhardy sailors with the promise of cheap drinks, an assortment of inconveniently placed games of skill and chance, surly goateed men working behind the stick and a cashew machine of infrequent patronage.

You're here because: The line at the Ram's Head was too long, or that house party got broken up at 1.

You'll be back because: That party might last until 4 in the morning this time, but the Plaza dishes up its own brand of dirty love that you can't deny.

You are drinking: A $2 Long Island that tastes like a $1 Long Island. Maybe a Red Hook. Jameson has been cheap lately as well. Remember, the surly bartenders get surlier if you don't tip.

You will hear: "Weapon of Choice" - Fatboy Slim, "Jessie's Girl" - Rick Springfield, "I Buy The Drugs" - The Electric Six

Scanning the crowd, you will see: Journalism majors, aspiring lawyers and local politicians. About 500 folks you know randomly: The Plaza calls to people.

Stay away from: Protruding pool cues and the bartenders at closing time. The Plaza imposes martial law between 1:30 and 2, so make sure you wear long sleeves so the bites don't break the skin.