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Six alleys of tiny bars, most seating six people at a squeeze.

Three floors of speakeasy: boxing-club décor, deep sofas, long drinks.

Basement jazz club with small plates and a house band that swings.

The hour when the towers light and the desert heat finally drops.

The unmarked door that started Amsterdam's cocktail habit.

Sixty-three floors up, with the Chao Phraya turning gold beneath you.