With its high ceilings, soft lighting, and boozehounds, Club Noc Noc comes off as a cross between the Cheesecake Factory and a dive bar. Mounted above the liquor shelves, a red-eyed demon glowers at patrons and appears to demand they drink themselves stupid. And that they will. The Noc Noc attracts street urchins, suits, and everyone in between each night during its glorious happy hour, offering $1 beers and $2 wells. And damn, those wells are dangerously potent. My screwdrivers were made almost entirely of vodka, with a few drops of orange juice added merely for color. By drink #3 I was tanked—and only $6 in! I felt like I was drinking at Denny’s, except a smidge cooler. I backed out of screwdriver #4—it was a Monday—and paid my tab. “Have a good night, Emily!” the amicable bartender shouted as I stumbled toward the exit. I waved at him. And it didn’t occur to me until I was several blocks away that he’d gotten my name wrong.