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Bulgarian Restaurant and Bar
Broadway @ Canal
Borderlands South
Manhattan
[High on the second floor, commanding a view of The Crossroads, a true limen at once separating and holding together Chinatown, Soso, Tribeca, Civic Center, there is a conspicuously inconspicuous neon sign, "BAR," that one walks by on innumerable nights, even during those first weeks of living in The City, walks by on the way between the Knitting Factory and Toad Hall perhaps, even during the summer months when music drifts down from the vicinity of the sign and it's warm and there is no known destination, walks by, even after having for a moment paused and looked up, trying to see exactly where the door would be, and one icy night, years later, after walking circles downtown you find yourself standing at the corner of Broadway and Canal and realize that the ugly green awning that says "Bulgarian Restaurant and Bar" is the entrance; I finally climbed the cold cement stairs behind that pair of wooden doors, and I hesitate to give away what I found. But I will tell you that in spite of my annual January poverty, I spent every last dollar in my pocket, happily.] ["The only Bulgarian restaurant and bar on the east American coast" has a proper name, Mehanata, or Mehanata 416 B.C. (i.e., 416 Broadway Canal). Large groups (sometimes whole families, from infant to great-great-grandparent) laugh and dance and eat and drink to an American jukebox or to pop music from the coasts of the Black Sea or from Greece. That's what's called Good Clean Fun, kittlings.] [Wednesday nights, yeah!] [!] { Jakeed 4/28/01: I took a piss at one point and pined for my sharpie to write MEHANATA FRIDAY NIGHTS = SLUMMING HIPSTERS in mammoth block letters all over the bathroom walls when I walked in almost got punched in the face a few times trying to squish from the door to the bar it was technomayhem with all stripes of megahipsters pretending to fuck each other on the dance floor while half a dozen Bulgarians nimbly avoided these cracker flailings yeah entertainment in itself when the music finally goes à l'est au levant to see these whitey girls trying to move their midsections to eastern rhythms like this one bleached hair regular setting the boys' loins on fire with her jiggle and shimmer drank a beer or two to the ethnic pop explaining to my companion what this bar  was like  then and when the DJ went for Abba I was already half way to the street wishing I spoke the language so I could have said to the cute bartender with the wild necklace I'm not with these people my blood runs dark with shame and since they seem oblivious let me apologize for overrunning your bar TONY must have written this place up}

on to Chinatown
or on to Soso
or on to Tribeca

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