When I lived in Park Slope in the mid 1990s, I developed a crush on the neighborhood slut. Her name was the Lincoln Plaza Hotel, and she was a bundle of contradictions. Unlike other so-called "short-stay" motels, which tend to sprout in anonymous cinder-block buildings near freeway exits, this was a beautiful 117-year-old mansion on a street lined with stately brownstones. Though the exterior was dignified, the interior was decidedly racy. As I passed the Lincoln Plaza on my way to Prospect Park, I usually tried to peer past the smudged glass door and get a peek through to the lobby, which was painted a naughty red and lit by... More >>>