Twenty-five years ago, junkies and squeegee guys who worked the corner of Houston and Second Avenue were pretty much the only people who ventured inside. Even the CBGB punks from around the corner were afraid. And this survivor of New York's down-and-out heyday is one of the last places left in the city where genuine outcasts and alcoholics still fit in. Have a "shot" of whiskey--it comes in a jumbo rocks glass, filled nearly three fingers high. That and a bottle of Bud will set you back $6.25. Destroying your liver was never so cheap--or so fun.