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Sometimes those accidental
finds turn out to be the best places around. I certainly had no expectations
when I ducked into this little hole of a bar in Astoria after arriving
ridiculously early for a dinner at a nearby restaurant. I sidled up
to the small bar and ordered a beer, which I proceeded to drink very
slowly. While sitting, I scanned the walls of the place, which are
lined with broken junk, knick-knacks and something that I can only
assume is that "found art" crap that New Yorkers are so
fond of. It's as if a giant tornado took a Soho lounge into its grip,
slammed it down in the East Village for a spell and then whisked it
away to the other side of the river to a non-descript block of a non-descript
neighborhood in Queens. The clientele looked more artsy than, I don't
know, Queensy. The bartender had tatts covering his neck, and had
an accent straight out of a 1985 cold war thriller. The music was
a mixture of punk, rockabilly and classic bar tunes. I was so glad
I fell into this joint, that I begged to come back after dinner. Apparently
I wasn't the only one who knew about this bar. It was packed with
cool twenty-somethings chatting and drinking to their heart's content.
I was seriously impressed with the hipness factor of the place. Who
knew Queens could elicit such feelings of cool? [MF]
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