Who says dreams don’t come true? When I first began tramping around the Lower East Side in search of the perfect dive bar, I always looked upon it as a playground; a place to drive to in my 1962 “Three on the Tree” Rambler Wagon from my home on Staten Island, not a place I’d wind up living, even though everything about the neighborhood piqued my interest: so funky, so diverse, such a time capsule of a New York rapidly vanishing and evolving, the people, the places, the vestiges of the immigrants who settled here at the turn of the 20th century! Wistfully, I’d imagine a day I would be living on the lower east side the same way, I suppose, Chekhov’s Three Sisters imagined getting to Moscow. But unlike Olga, Masha, and Irina, my journey took place. Read all about it!
