
Speakeasies tend to latch on to the creepy and salacious. During the course of my speakeasy series, I’ve visited horror film-themed bars, heard multiple stories of ghosts haunting the premises, and learned that brothels existed in the heart of Austin not long ago. When I found out Austin’s newest speakeasy is named after J. Stephens, who came to his end in the late 1920s via suicide, due to drinking the equivalent of Lysol, it felt rather on-brand.
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