East Village and the Single Life!

So, in order to get over the whole breaking up with Nick thing, I decided to hang with "how-small-is-your-bladder" Kerman, "babla-dabao" Lotte and half-limp, Lotte's barely surviving umbrella (which, allegedly, was "protecting" her from the 3.5 "droplets of rain!" Firangs, i tell you!!).
And while we walked around the east village on a dank New York night, the topics of conversation yo-yoed from international politics to backstabbing jews. We did get hungry, and ate at a really shitty Indian restaurant on 6th St (Sonali, I think it was called - sooooo bad - their ras malai was worse than the cement idlis at UDCT!!) and then hung out at 'The boiler room', affectionately called the 'East Village's straight man gay bar'.
2 beers down and I was flying. (Man, it doesn't take much to get me drunk!) And somewhere between talk of anal virgins and my former physics tutor Derrick Lobo (husband of Myrtle the Turtle), I noticed that there were only 10 people in the whole bar.
No dancing divas, no twinkie go go boys, no mirror afficionados - just old, balding men drinking beer and the three of us.
You know you're really having a good time when you go to a gay bar in Manhattan and check out the crowd only once - and truly not care about them!