Tony at the Red Line Tap.
It was 103 degrees and I needed something tall with a head on it.
Clearly, I’m not talking about the Mayor.
The place was empty except for Marty behind the bar and Tony commanding his usual stool. Like a poor man’s Irv Kupcinet at booth number one in the old Pump Room.
“Haven’t seen you around. Where you been, Klonsky?”
“DC. At the union convention.”
Marty brought me over a glass of whatever was on drought.
“Great. Sounds like loads of fun. On the other hand, it was a holiday week and all the