The old man bar in my neighborhood is kind of amazing. But I love it when I introduce someone new to it, because they find new characters to add to the cast. It's mostly always the same group: a mumbling man drinking red wine with an ear-flap winter hat and reading the newspaper from four days ago (probably unaware it's out of date), who signs over his social security checks directly to the bar; an old woman that has likely been coming there since the 70s that gets her hair helmet done once a week and never washes it and sips white wine spritzers while bitterly remembering her failed marriage; three perpetually-drunk, white-haired men that look like they could've participated in either a strong man or mustache competition in Coney Island in 1954. Last night, I took E. there for the first time, and she noted a new contender: a 50-something-year old woman in a canary yellow very trendy cable knit sweater with her hair pulled back tightly in a bun, kind of looking like Peggy Fleming. Her comment: "That woman looks like a former figure skating champion." Except she didn't mean she looked like a specific one; she just had the aura of someone that probably took the ice for the last time at some point in the early 80s.
New York is known to be full of celebrities, but I'm not quite sure this is what they mean by that.
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