 | Bob likes to do two things and one of them is drinking. His favorite is
an old steel-worker's hangover remedy of Budweiser and tomato juice.
Bob got his first love handle when he was 11. Try him on. He'll make
you feel better about yourself. |
| She's friendly until about 10:30pm when her meds wear off. Barb is everyone's best friend and you can buy her a drink to prove it. Gin and bitters or nothing for her. She enjoys sitting in Washington Square Park hoping for NYU film students to discover her with their 16mm. She'll keep you warm at night. |
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| You might know Hank. He's an ambassador of ill-will and barroom brawls.
Cigarette sandwiches and scotch keep him from falling down. When he
sleeps, we're all a little safer. Have him over tonight. He's fun. |
| Sulfites give her a headache so Janet sticks to Vodka and sodas. No
fruit. Janet likes listening to bebop jazz with the lights out. She has
no health insurance and she used to live with Bob. Take her home. |
| Joe is no one's favorite. Aggravated is his general mood. He is a pillar of snotty drunkeness and his "regular" status at the bar is worn loud. He will not buy you a drink and he knows better than anyone how the neighborhood used to be. He's a dick, and he can be yours. |
| Sam dreams of being a country music star but instead shovels pasta and hot wings in the tourism trough called Times Square. A New Orleans transplant, she now lives between a catbox and a lamp on her friend's couch. Her favorite movie is Erin Brockovich. She's missing a toe and she wears sandals often. |
| The Smiths are bar owners and part-time carnies. This is how they look. You can bump into them at any time deep in the bowels of Chinatown. Sometimes they venture up to Soho. Keep your distance. Or, wear them. |
 | Hank said it best: "Vince just aint right in the head." It's true. But he does like the Yankees and Werner Hertzog films. Vince does most of his drinking before noon and he speaks to no one. It's believed he lives on the Bowery. Vince is always in style. Try him on. |
 | NYC
is over 8.2 million people jammed into 322 square miles. Most of the
people we know go to bed drunk and wake up guilty - usually with broken
recollections of eating pizza and three crumpled singles in their
pocket. We know Bob does. Do you? |