Any bar that's a real bar has her over the cash register. This bar has had her there since the 1970's and I'm sure my cigarette smoke is part of the layer of grime that coats her.
I don't know if she has a name or if each bar names her themselves. I just know that at 12:09 on a Sunday night - or Monday morning if you’re really going to be a dick about it - sitting at the bar by myself and recapturing the weekend's highs and the lows of perseverance and loneliness, I find it reassuring to see a voluptuous woman command such respect and radiate such beauty.
MY PRIVATE CONEY presents IT WAS HER NEW YORK, the short stories that accompany the work-in-progress video and photo collection of the same name (myprivateconey.com - media link - IT WAS HER NEW YORK). The stories and the media explore the tender rubble that holds both my mother, Florence's and New York's soul as one disappears into old age and the other into gentrification. All are real observations and/or experiences with very little tall-tale telling.
Except when it makes the story better.
Please visit myprivateconey.com for additional information and sample works.