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The place is called 69, and one can only assume it’s named after its address on Bayard St. The decoration scheme is as simple or as complicated as the many one dollar bills taped to the walls. There must be hundreds of them, signed by their former owners in red or black markers. Some are posted in groups of ten or fifteen and bigger drawings take the place of scrawled signatures and tags. 69 is open until five a.m.; the late night clientele represents the city in all its shades. Karin jokes that the menu “barely qualifies as Chinese food” — the waiters are surprised when asked for chopsticks. The mood is as dark as the people who finish the night in the wee hours, wheezing like last call in the latest bars in the city.

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