Maybe most folks duck in here for their live-music fix, or maybe this bar's one of the last left where you can escape the coifed and lacquered minions of Himmarshee Street. Doesn't really matter. Fact is the Poor House reigns as a fine place to hunker down and drink. Maroon candles and tiny blue Christmas lights provide the front and back bars with the kind of low-key illumination you need after downing numerous pints. Cushy black barstools are plentiful, bartenders are attentive, and no one's trying to get you to buy some dumb-ass overpriced rose. The place gets packed on weekends with music and booze aficionados, but weeknights offer a more intimate, though no more sober, crowd. Instructions for visiting during the workweek: Go on a Tuesday evening. Pull up a stool. Pretend it's Friday and order shots of Rumplemintz with beer chasers. Mix well. Call in sick the next day.

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