Thorns is a bit run down and not located in the best neighborhood. The place is in the basement of an ancient tenement that probably should have been torn down thirty years ago.

Parking is a nightmare, meaning most patrons walk here or park blocks away. The club is marked by only a neon sign reading 'Thorns' and backlit by a black rose.. well, more purple, as the tubes are dusty and getting old.

The sign sits over a rusty door that opens to a steep, dark stairwell. The walls of the stairwell are brick and seem to get narrower the further down you go. They are covered in layer upon layer of flyer and band poster. Everything from the Cult to Nine inch nails and obscure german bands.

At the bottom of the stairs the room opens up. It used to be a machine shop so the ceilings arent all that high and the acoustics are best described as 'Boom box in a coffin'.

There is a bar along the back wall tended by a portly old punk rocker in his late thirties. An honest buisnessman and a friendly guy as long as you respect his establishment.

There are a few small scattered tables near the bar, and a rope to keep the under aged patrons away from the drinkers.

Most of the room is an open floor, with just a few pillars. The stage is small but has seen more bands than any other establishment in the city. In front of the stage there are no tables, just an open concrete floor and black painted walls smothered by posters much like the stairs.

This is it, there are no secret rooms, no backstage. This is as raw as it gets; but admission is cheap, the drinks are strong and the music, if your into it, is as real as it gets.