The Townhouse is the long-running “wrinkle bar,” where the crowd predominantly consists of one-foot-in-the-gravers in business suits, with an occasional entrepreneurial twink thrown into the mix. And if you’re a young hottie—or even someone in his late fifties—you may as well work it, kid. It’s remarkably easy to get these gentlemen to buy you a beverage by simply engaging them in a brief conversation, then blurting, “I’m thirsty”—or even just looking parched. Sometimes you don’t even have to go the thirsty route at all: The gussied-up gents are so freaking rich and so eager for company that they usually offer the drink without prompting—and they provide refills, too! It’s a recession-era wet dream and, best of all, you never have to return the favor. Or any favor, for that matter.