Up the Green Line past Pleasant Plains, I’m supposed to meet BARTENDERHULK at some new speakeasy on the corner of Brockway and Ogdenville. The bar itself is normal for what you find all over D.C.: backlit spirits, TVs overhead, 15 stools along a wooden bar, a mix of craft and crap. But the “man” behind the bar looks out of place. Green and shirtless, he has a musculature that suggests too much time with steroids. Every now and then he shouts at customers…