This was recently excised from my first novel. Perhaps it will find a new place, who knows?
The neighborhood is mostly Greek and you can walk down Broadway and not hear anyone speaking English. ATMs are fluent in five languages. There’s the Old Greek Captain Restaurant, a florescent-lit patio furniture-filled dump where the deep fryer bubbles all night and the cook smokes cigarettes out on the sidewalk, still wearing his hygienic gloves. The more popular, but far more repulsive, Uncle Niko’s Restaurant, which is the one that the tourist guides suggest—it is forever full. There are nightclubs and coffee bars: Olympia 21, The Cave, Exo, others that I don’t know the name of, and which probably won’t last anyway—this city eats businesses like candy. Even a gay bar, Playa, which though mostly a black and Latino dyke hangout is often filled (on Sunday afternoons at least) with tight-lipped white men from Long Island who come into town to suck some cock, or to get fucked. They’re generally not very experienced, but they’ve all been nicely hairy, and most of them have had pleasantly average-sized dicks. Size matters, but not when you fellate for a living.