The Local 269 (CLOSED)

This friendly dive makes an earnest effort to feel like a bygone neighborhood joint, but it’s only halfway there. The quirky decor—mismatched chandeliers, pink toilet paper in the bathrooms and (gasp) non-flat-screen TVs above the bar—works just fine, and it’s hard to complain about standard taps (Guinness, Brooklyn Lager) and dirt-cheap (if disgusting) drink specials, like five shots for $10. But a true local lives and dies by its clientele, and this one’s still struggling to find it. When the stars align, a diverse crowd of toe-tapping middle-aged patrons and younger drinkers share the small space amiably for live music sets (a Monday night jazz series is gaining buzz). However, you’re just as likely to find the place dead, save for a ragtag bunch swilling cheap booze and taking turns on the jukebox.