Every other Tuesday we gather in a West Village bar for what we call Drinkers With a Writing Problem. We sit around in the back room, laugh our asses, and drink beer, wine, and whisky with a somewhat reckless abandon.  We also, on occasion, read some of our stories and critique each other’s writings.

This is an old story that I ended up reading this week because… Actually I have no idea why I read this except I thought it was funny at the time.

So, here’s a glimpse into our dirty little circle of New York Writers and perverts.