By the time 11pm descends on Belltown, the lines are long and the pants are tight at the nearby clubs already throbbing with untz-untz music. But on Second Avenue, amidst its unceasing wall of nightlife, the circus lights and faded striped awning outside Shorty's promise a night bent and distorted like your image in a fun house mirror. An urgent drum riff blares on the sound system, all but drowned out by the clack-clack-pling of pinball machines. The circus murals are creepy and everything smells like hot dogs, though the hot dogs themselves actually taste pretty good. Shorty’s isn’t one of those artfully contrived dives. It’s the kind where the bathroom doesn’t have a proper door and the graffiti inside is a colorful milieu of who wants to do what to whom.