Wednesday, February 20, 2013

...on the kills

"you know breeze, it's a shame that the 7 is out all winter, I'd like to hit Dutch kills one night but I won't walk it in this cold", proclaimed the bastard…

"yeah, it is. I've been to Dutch kills, it's a really good bar.", the breeze retorted…

"but I will say this, since they started complaining about the shit shuttle bus service, it certainly does show up more often."

"there's one now."

"I see that. you know what I'm thinking?"


"if that light turns red, lets get on that bus and go to Dutch kills. worse comes to worse we take the bus back"



(turns yellow)

"and we're off to the races"

lit turns red and breeze and I are hoofing it…

to hooker style across the boulevard of Vernon bound for drinks unknown in the Dutch kills section of the queens craptastic.

SIDEBAR: Long Island city is big. it's goddam big. so big that Astoria and sunnyside make it bigger. it's just a goddam fact of life. the bastard lives in the hunters point section of the liquid city. it's the very edge. you are as east as you can possibly BE and still be in queens where I'm at. and Dutch kills is the section that is closest to the east of hunters point. what? read a goddam map squire.

so we cross the boulevard and slide across the windshield and onto the shuttle. the bastard lands on his feet and calls some old woman a maggot so as to not break character. another old woman was in the back of the bus shouting into her phone and sucking on humbugs. you know she's a doors fan.

doors close…

on to mayhem.

the Dutch kills bar is modeled after old timey speakeasies. the wood is dark, and the ceilings are high. and the floor looks like it came with the place. there is nothing on the outside to tell you that you've arrived save for a small neon sign that says "bar".

inside was hopping jazz and fucking DARKNESS and it was good.

the drinks were served in giant glasses with big blocks of slow melting ice. which was the style of the time.

I hesitate to use the term "mixologist" because I hate that term but the dandy throwing down that night looked like he stepped off of his penny farthing bicycle with his monocle before starting his shift but he threw the hell DOWN. it was impressive.

several drinks later the breeze and I stepped out into the night air fulla whiskey.

"so what did you think", the breeze queried…

"I think I'm going to measure every bar I go to for the rest of my life against this place," i replied. "best bar ever."

and with that, we were off into the night in search of poutine, because salt is pretty damn great too.

—the bastard

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