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Up-and-coming art punks, garage rockers and knuckle-dragging amp crankers come here to hone their chops in one room, while glassy-eyed hipsters bury their heads in Dark Matter coffee and the latest Lapham’s Quarterly at the counter of another room. Food (samosas, a crispy fried-fish sandwich, a killer Subcontinental-ish brunch) is cheap, bottled beer is mostly craft, and service—though on the slow side of mellow—is as unaffected as the dinerish environs.