We're sitting drinking Campari in the Angry Squire on Seventh Avenue in Chelsea, a dull sweltry Sunday night, watching the sippers and swallowers drift through a brew or two and buzz out somewhere else.

A dark New York street cowboy saunters in, locking his Honda to the hitching post outside. He orders a Whitbread Ale (on tap), takes a poke, then moves to the juke.