About a year ago, a literary salon sprang to life in a run-down town house in the West Village. Dozens of young writers, critics, artists, theatre actors and filmmakers started going there almost nightly to drink, smoke, talk, dance and argue, much like their bohemian predecessors in the days before sky-high rents priced poets out of the neighbourhood.
About a year ago, a literary salon sprang to life in a run-down town house in the West Village. Dozens of young writers, critics, artists, theatre actors and filmmakers started going there almost nightly to drink, smoke, talk, dance and argue, much like their bohemian predecessors in the days before sky-high rents priced poets out of the neighbourhood.