To divine whether you are drinking at a true dive bar, forget the neighborhood. Dive bars, thankfully, live everywhere in this city, a testament to tradition and one inescapable fact: Once we are in winter's teeth, few trips warm us like the short walk to a cheap drink. [...]
In Max's on a recent Tuesday afternoon, eight men in baseball caps sat with brown bottles before them. Old Style cost $1 on draft, so I ordered that. The bartender, the only woman in the place, set my mug down. I asked how long the bar had been there.
"I bet one of these guys would know before me," she said.
She turned to a customer and said, "Hey Eli, how long has this place been here?"
"About 37 years," Eli said.
But who's counting?
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
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