In 2011, we lost the Phoenix, that cheap, dirty little spot on Biddle Street where K-pop dance parties and down-low pool sharks coexisted in drunken bliss. Worse, the number of weird little gay dive bars that feel both idiosyncratic and quintessentially Baltimore dwindles every year. Many think our options are limited to a handful of uptight Mount Vernon clubs, which seem to cater more and more to weekend warriors who wear T-shirts emblazoned with the name of the store where they were purchased.
