Say the phrase "dance club," and many people's minds conjure the following: blinding laser lights, lines down the block, and drinks so spendy they'll flip your mortgage if you order more than two. But not at Delirium. That's because it's a dive bar that just happens to have a dancefloor — or, to be more accurate, a dark-walled rear room where DJs spin discs while happy drunks get their bop on. It doesn't take Einstein to realize that this "dance club" is actually a black hole: Light can't escape, time is meaningless, and your body slowly explodes into a billion particles until you transcend this mortal plane and become one with the universe. Or maybe that's just the result of heavy-handed bartender pours. Whatever. Delirium's theory of relativity states that your proximity to cologne-soaked douchebags is directly proportionate to your distance from the Marina. Escape velocity, please! Destination: Delirium.