The stool I keep warm

Twenty-five years of pointing a microphone at this city teaches you where to put it down for a while. These are the rooms in and around Inwood, and a few further south, where I've logged more hours than I'd admit to a cardiologist, listening to the city argue with itself over a pint. No notes on Coogan's here, since that particular argument ended a few years back and I still miss the noise of it.