The District gets down

Spilling out onto the sidewalk under cig¬arette haze, throngs of the nouvelle-hip emerge. Sweaty and smiling, they take a break from dancing their asses off in the smallest hours of the morning. Inside, the beat is throbbing; emerald lights pulsate, hips undulate, Red Bull and vodka flow.

You’re probably thinking Brooklyn or Berlin, but lately, it’s D.C. that’s been stepping up its game in the let-it-all-loose dance party department.