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Why are we even reviewing this place? It's in frickin' Bushwick, for God's sake. But Grand Street is Grand Street, and that was the logic that led us out past Graham and into the stark, distant wasteland that real estate copywriters have dubbed "East Williamsburg."  What did we learn from our expedition? We learned that Grand Street is asexual in it's gentrification, and it reproduces not unlike bacteria. Every few blocks it repeats itself and the same shitty bars keep popping up. Lockinn is no exception: it has the same retarded backyard, the same awful playlist blaring, the same awkward, frattish dudes who must have gotten lost on their way to Redd's, and the same bland, lifeless decor (hey, Huckleberry may look pretty, but you can't play pool there). The table is nice, the cue sticks are not. Whatever. No one really goes there anyway.