Audio By Carbonatix
Carioca Cafe, also known affectionately as “BAR,” after its generic neon sign, squats on the desolate corner of 21st and Champa. The astoundingly cheap drinks and great Tuesday-night DJs Chuck and Brian attract a strange mix of clientele: scooter folk, indie rockers, Joe Hundredaires and, of course, your typical crusty, decrepit barflies. But these barflies bring their girlfriends, and therein lies the spectacle. Petty jealousies seethe and bristled fur flies when riled up by too many 75-cent Pabst Blue Ribbons and one-buck wells. We’re not talking bitch slaps here: This is knock-down, drag-out, table-upending tavern combat, with two-inch manicures drawing blood like the talons of some mythical Maybelline-dripping beast. And there’s not even a cover!