There's this place on the Lower East Side. I can't remember where or when. It's name escapes me. What use am I then? Hardly any. But the place is great. I'd look it up if I were you, next time your in town that is. Otherwise, what's the purpose?
There's also this place out here, the other side, that reminds me of the place over there. The name, in this instance, does not escape me. But I can't remember the entire name, just a part. Like a puzzle with a missing piece laughing and taunting beneath the covers. It's dark, the kind of place that lends itself to anonymity. No names in there...maybe that's why I can't remember it? The green felt stretched across the pool table has stories to tell. But it's voice is scratchy, too many long ago smokes have done their damage. That just lends to its authenticity. And drinks, so many spilled to fill a mountain of doubt.
What was particularly pleasing about the place on the Lower East Side, like so many others over there, is that my 4th pint was on the bartender. How groovy is that? The disco ball spinning its excited smile at the thought. Yummy. Time to go home. I've had my fill.
See you.
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