Of the many, many things I love about NYC is the fact that there is a bar I go to specifically when I want strange men to pay for my drinks while I mourn a fresh breakup with a woman. Tonight, I am sorry to say, I had occasion to visit said bar. On the docket: Mexican firing squads, a tequila cocktail that takes no prisoners and is named all too aptly. Note that I drank two and paid for none, my kind of new math. There’s something so wonderful about male chivalry when it comes without strings, and what could be less promising for a young man-about-town than a 40something broad mourning the woman who just sent her packing? (Send greasy carbs. And new love interests.)
Of the many, many things I love about NYC is the fact that there is a bar I go to specifically when I want strange men to pay for my drinks while I mourn a fresh breakup with a woman. Tonight, I am sorry to say, I had occasion to visit said bar. On the docket: Mexican firing squads, a tequila cocktail that takes no prisoners and is named all too aptly. Note that I drank two and paid for none, my kind of new math. There’s something so wonderful about male chivalry when it comes without strings, and what could be less promising for a young man-about-town than a 40something broad mourning the woman who just sent her packing? (Send greasy carbs. And new love interests.)