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.
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on October 21, 2009