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These days, gay old Christopher Street is more about libation than liberation but it’s still characterized by all things homo: sassy finger-snappers, rainbow-flag-waving tourists, and graying Levi-types with red handkerchiefs in their back pockets. This watering hole attracts a cocktail-perfect mixture of the sweet and the sour. More of a one-drink layover than a destination, it has evaded the Queer Eye era onslaught of uppity makeovers and remains a several-blocks-from-fabulous alternative to the over-manicured institutions in metrosexualized Chelsea and Soho. A narrow bar in front gives way to a more spacious backroom where occasional go-go and game shows, $100 billiard competitions on Wednesdays, and other cruisey interactions unfurl to the tune of Brittany, Blondie and Babs. Because local patrons and visitors alike seem to drop by on a whim, you never knows what or whom you’ll encounter. — Adam H. Graham