FIND YOUR PACK: Queer spaces save queer lives. RACHEL ROBINSON
In Williamsburg, Brooklyn, there’s a bar called the Metropolitan. I don’t know how long it’s been around—but for as long as I’ve been around, it’s been gay.
In 2012, the editors at a now-defunct alternative magazine assigned me, a very green 21-year-old, to write a piece about the Metropolitan. At that time, the neighborhood was changing and the new neighbors didn’t like the bar’s backyard garden. They didn’t like the cackling and the hooting and the hollering that went on past their bedtimes. And they did have bedtimes. The bar’s newer neighbors in the apartments that surrounded the garden had day jobs, ones that started early in the morning in downtown offices…
