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Perhaps it's the popular conviction that magicians (read: David Blaine) are aesthetically unappealing that keeps this pleasant tavern empty on week nights—particularly strange given its location smack in the middle of the Lower East Side entertainment zone.  But on weekends, you're gonna have to use a little magic to get a seat on one of the heavy, old-fashioned wooden office chairs. Birthday, goodbye, and bachelor parties usually command the airy, brightly-lit (for a bar) back room lined with a bench and clusters of massive, round tables. The décor is roughly L.A. noir: venetian blinds in the front windows and Raymond Chandler-appropriate overhead office lamps. Keeping it from being some irritating set piece is the jukebox, stacked with eighties sad-teen music like the Cure and the Smiths.