So I’m strolling under a night sky in a light rain along Sixth Avenue, past its cafes and clubs and cool spots.

Stop beneath an awning to roll a smoke. In front of Six Olives Lounge. A class act with low lighting. Dark wood. Liquid jazz. Cocktails with  names like Leather Club Chair and Pom-a-tini.

I glance up from my roll. A very large bottle in the window catches my eye.

I pause. Think. Why do I know that name? Oh yeah.

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