On a lonely end of 6th Street just shy of Avenue A sits a seemingly sleepy and unassuming little bar. Notable neither for its dilapidated facade or its drab and dreary decor, the Cherry Tavern might not be worth mentioning at all were it not for the simple fact that it is a bar where things happen.
On any given night the Cherry Tavern plays host to a dozen or more scandals, liaisons, newborn friendships, broken alliances, and ultimately the pairings and despairings which characterize the best and worst New York City nights. The Cherry Tavern is that rare Manhattan bar where strangers interact. Maybe itís that the jukebox invariably plays at just the right level Ė loud enough to keep the room alive, but not so loud as to drown out conversation. Or maybe itís the dim and hazy lighting under which everyone always seems to look so many times better than they will tomorrow morning. Whatever the cause may be, the Cherry Tavern seems to reside in a karmic grace which somehow persuades people to break free of their tightly bound social circles and open themselves up to the possibilities of the night.