We know her name, and we know where she works, but......aaahhh, ......well you see we can't tell you..... not exactly. Umm, it's not that we want to keep you in the dark, heck no, we're here to spread the word, but the situation is, uuhh, that we want to keep our bodies, ummm, intact.

It's OK, really! Thanks! We've braved danger before; nothing, well almost nothing, is too perilous for our intrepid staff when it comes to ferreting out the hip and cool around town. It's just that one fine afternoon, our faithful Barmaid photographer, S.B. (Shutter Bug) McGhee, was wandering around a desolate part of town in search of artsy-looking photos for his next series of Holiday Greeting cards, when, lo and behold, he stumbled onto a remote and unexpected bar in this windswept part of the West Side.

Notice that we are attempting to somewhat obscure the location of this place, but the shrewdest of you will already be starting to sniff out the approximate area (hint, hint). Anyway, upon stepping inside, S.B. McGhee was greeted by a young lady whose skill and spirit behind the bar were so overwhelming that he committed himself then and there to spending every last cent in his pockets, if need be, to make her acquaintence. (This is what we love about S.B.). In his single-minded exuberance, he took out his camera and before you could say "shot of tequila", several other patrons who shared his enthusiasm for our fair barmaid, but not his desire to record the scene for posterity, siezed him, and generously and emphatically offered to perform amatuer knee-surgery for free if S. B. didn't put his camera away and head for the nearest girly-boy bar instantly. While ignoring the sexual innuendo, S.B. prudently stashed his lens and made his retreat, but not before giving the maiden a wink and vowing to return.

Outside, he noticed for the first time the gleaming motorcycles parked around the corner which might have tipped him off beforehand had he not rushed headlong to his comeuppance. But S.B. is a photographer, not a philosopher-king, thank goodness, so we are delighted to report that he did get off a couple of shots of the young lady in question, before having the flames of his enthusiasm extinguished; you see the results here.

So is this the end of the story? Not at all! Though we are a peace-loving group here at IN-NYC, this incident hasn't prevented our heading back again and enjoying the awesome country-rock juke box and the gigantic, uuuhhhh, Sculpture, up on the wall behind the bar. You want to go visit? We had to promise not to reveal the name and exact location for the sake of our kneecaps, but we've given you enough hints about the place for a bumbling Inspector Clouseau to find it.

Allright, already! We'll give you one more: it's named after two farm animals. OK? Just leave your camera in your bag. (Rebel yells are permitted.)

why we don't stay home to drink