Labor Day weekend in the City and it can feel as if the world has fled to the beach.
For the less privileged, this is prime playtime in New York, however — packed restaurants are emptier, exclusive bars suddenly become accessible.
With Hurricane Earl nowhere in sight, the sky is a saturated cerulean; a light breeze cuts through the waning warmth. We are in Williamsburg, my writer friend Mr. B and I, for an afternoon of nursing our disappointments at not being at a beach ourselves. But mostly, to catch up on this Writing thing that we do.
“I want you to check out this bar,” he says, “I think you’d really like it.”
And so we find ourselves sliding into seats outside the Hotel Delmano, watching the too-hip rompers and ankle boots and tousled-just-so hairdos amble by.
The thing here is the cocktails. It’s mid-afternoon — but a holiday weekend, we reason — so we decide to oblige …