Zero

Tavern.
Clientéle: Bleaker factotums and middlemen, as well as the "high society" of the fashionably hopeless and tragically hip.
Atmosphere: A taproom full of flimsy wooden tables and chairs, irregularly decorated in dark colors. Most conversation is quiet, but regular patrons seldom begrudge any noisy visitors (performers are tolerated, but shouldn't expect to make any tips). No one seems to mind anything that gets carved into or painted on the walls.
Proprietor: Unknown. How the place stays in business is a mystery. The bar is always manned by one or more servers of various races (but most often humans or tieflings).
Bill of Fare: Patrons pay a 2 SP cover charge. Pitchers and glasses are always brought to a table, but the consistency ends there. Sometimes the pitchers are empty and the glasses are full of whatever bub is on hand for the day, or the pitchers are full of bub and the glasses full of holes, or the patrons receive no drink whatsoever. Staff argue that the erratic service is representative of "meaningful meaninglessness".