All the recent news about Chumley's buidling being for sale and the old speakeasy being smothered in scaffolding made me skittish, so I headed for Bedford Street late one night just to make sure the trusted trough was there. It was. Smallish crowd, though all at least two sheets to the wind.
Soon after I arrived and ordered my Irish Red, the barkeep yelled "Time!" and soon after that the lights were switched on to encourage a general exodus. I've been to Chumley's countless times, but I don't think I've ever seen the place under anything but the dimmest illumination. I took a good gander at some of the framed photos of writers and book jackets that have always been somewhat obscured by the shadows. And I knocked off a few photos for the general enjoyment, figuring I wouldn't see the decor so clearly again anytime soon.
Get That Ugly Thing Off Chumley's
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