A shelter from the buzz and bustle of 14th Street, Blarney Cove has all the marks of a classic dive: cheap booze, total lack of decor, a trivia machine, and a couple of old men sleeping at the bar at any given time. But the Blarney has an added charm. As the evening progresses, should you manage to impress upon the bartender that you are a pleasant and upstanding young lady or gentleman, the rate of buy-backs can shift from every third or fourth drink to every second. And the barkeep pours them nice. Who needs fucking decor?