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The Hose, upstairs and unmarked on Avenue B, is the sort of secret, cozily decadent New York bar that all but disappeared amid the slick mixology of the last decade. Until recently, as a matter of fact, the space was one of those sanctums of privilege: Uncle Ming’s, which catered to the youth of Wall Street. Now, humbled by the recession, it’s become just a bar, albeit one with a fantastically suggestive name. It’s got all the elements of a classic gay hangout: go-go dancers, rock music, big drinks, tatty chandeliers, dirty retro pictures on the wall, and a discernible amount of body odor. Conveniently, it is only a short walk from more established establishments like the Phoenix, Nowhere, Section 8, and Eastern Bloc.
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