![]() People who’ve been here for longer have told me that’s what it’s always been like, living in New York: Your site of mourning is someone else’s happening. ![]() Those places hadn’t been there for very long to others, they were probably the shitty newcomers in their neighborhoods, moving into whatever was there before. Dancing on the piano itself was frowned upon, though known to happen. In Greenpoint, there was a piano bar where a dance party started at midnight every Saturday. The backyard was closed when it was cold out, and the walls would sweat. There was the gay bar in Bed-Stuy that had a little stage by the DJ. I wasn’t exaggerating-all the places I used to dance in have closed. Someone recently asked me if I knew where to go dancing in New York, and I said I had no clue.
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