A huge snake's spine winds its way along the narrow ceiling of this Capitol Hill club, its sinuous passage leading patrons to the dark recesses of the bar. The lounge is dimly lit and vaguely menacing, with so-so drinks and intoxicating music. The house DJ pumps in a harder, edgier variety of rock than that heard at most of the Hill's clubs, building the music to a subtle yet noticeable climax by night's end. Lucille, a live snake, occupies a tank behind the bar and slyly eyes the patrons.