Lucy’s

What I remember about Lucy’s is when it closed, or when we thought it closed, it was depressing even though it had been years since I’d moved uptown. What I also remember about Lucy’s is doing so much cocaine there in the summer of 2016 that I had to go to the ER once because I thought I was dying. I was having a panic attack but whatever. I was also working at the Academy of American Poets and getting paid $2. They were truly lucky. And I was depressed as a result. So I’d take my intern there after work and just buy her a bunch of drinks for like a dollar.

I’m not a person who likes playing pool because I like to be good at things. And I’m very bad at pool. But at Lucy’s it didn’t matter. Because all the Eastern Europeans would kick everyone’s ass. It was a relief. One time this very hot guy in his 40s walked in. He was from Ukraine or somewhere. And he asked if I wanted to team up with him against these other guys (also from Ukraine or somewhere). So I did. And he carried the entire game. He kept ordering shots and I kept telling him I was going to throw up. Which to be fair, at Lucy’s, was kind of gross. Because the bathrooms were shitty and small, but no more so than any other Village bar. And at least there was a mirror, unlike at Boiler Room, where you’d be lucky if there was toilet paper. Not that I used the bathrooms in the East Village for anything but checking my hair.

And I also didn’t wash my hair. Out of protest for working at a poetry nonprofit desk job where no one was a poet and everyone was a fucking cog in the machine. I hated that job so much. Mostly because I respect authenticity. If you’re going to be on Wall Street and be evil and make tons of money—do it. Act the part. If you’re going to be a poet, also do it. Don’t show up at a poetry nonprofit and work in the name of poets while being a joke. I quit that job when I finally could afford to. In any case, I also let my interns drink at lunch. And do whatever the fuck they wanted really. I didn’t care. I knew I’d get out of there.

Lucy’s was special to me because when I became a regular I was writing the poems in my second book. Which is my favorite because I was so broke, and it was so hard to be an artist, I could have easily given up. Robert Redford has this quote I love, I used to read it to myself during those years, and it’s something like…hold on. I have to look this up.

“I’m interested in that thing that happens where there’s a breaking point for some people and not for others. You go through such hardship, things that are almost impossibly difficult, and there’s no sign that it’s going to get any better, and that’s the point when people quit. But some don’t.”

Having a dive bar like Lucy’s helped me not quit. And seeing Lucy tend bar in her 70s was wild to me. I knew she’d had a hard life just by looking at her. And she was no bullshit but very kind. One time she asked me what I did and I said poetry. And she didn’t even blink. It was like it was expected to do that in the Village, the one she grew up in (in the early years of her bar I mean; she’s from Poland).

For what it’s worth, I’m glad Lucy’s is back. Even if you can get a martini there now. Which honestly, don’t be that loser who orders a martini at Lucy’s. Get drunk on shots or gin and tonics like the rest of us. And play pool. You’re going to lose anyway. Everyone gets beaten by a Slav in the end.