Midday Greenwich Village Drinkers Have Questionable Election Math

Kenny’s Castaways–a rock dive on Bleecker Street between Thompson and Sullivan –has been a daytime hangout for low-lifes since time immemorial. (Or at least the mid-1970s, when it opened; Bruce Springsteen played his first gig here.) Early this afternoon, Jerry the Methadonian came by to rally the flock. “Is everyone voting? You’re all getting out there right?” Everyone grunted in response.

A gallery worker named Sam, one of the few regulars with a job, wondered aloud if Jerry was a canvasser. But by this point he was off, on to the next shit hole. “Fuck politics,” was the response of Tommy Kenny, the owner.

Paul Sudia, a porter at the Back Fence next door, had another take. “There was a line around the block on 13th,” he said. “I told someone that was voting for Obama, ‘Look, you just don’t vote and it’ll be good, it will cancel each other out.’ Everyone just stared at me though. It’s a great system, but you can’t trust people,” he said with a sigh.

We were skeptical. Mr. Sudia lit a cigarette. “Uh, to be honest I wasn’t gonna vote anyway,” he said.