As you'd expect from any bar drawing its name from one of the great works of 20th century American literature, DB is a regular stomping ground for frat guys, guidos, the elusive hybrid frat-guido, and the kind of ladies who are drawn to the mixed scent of stale urine and Drakkar and find it impressive when someone hooks them up with a $4 serving of house punch.
When you leave Tequila Rain, you'll feel like there isn't enough Purell on the planet to sterilize what just happened. Basically it's Señor Frog’s with crappier weather. It's a sweaty cauldron of popped collars and sparkly tops set to a soundtrack that mostly consists of Rihanna and squealing. It smells like regret.
And now a moment of silence for these gone, but not forgotten, mind erasers. Cue the sappy music: An Tua Nua, Cambridgeport Saloon, The Purple Shamrock, and Jose McIntyre’s. You are gone, but only partially forgotten.