Gothamist had a long night last night. There was liquor. There were dancing girls. There might have been someone named Thomas (call me!!). Today there’s a headache, light sensitivity and dry-mouth to alarm the most devoted stoner.

coffee_pot.jpgWe need coffee and, while we’re loyal to our favorite haunts, we’re in no mood for innocuous conversation with our (rather handsome, incidentally) barista. We want a deep, almost bottomless vat of big, bold, black coffee consumed in anonymity. We want dim lighting, covert corners and a soundtrack that doesn’t make us, or those around us, want to A. clap our hands or B. say yeah. No children, but rather likeminded lechers in recovery, each equally absorbed in their respective novels/laptops/ipods under their respective hoodies and behind their respective sunglasses. That’s what we’re after, folks.

Gorilla Coffee brews a mug strong enough to flush our system of any lingering toxins, along with our stomach lining, but the thumping music doesn’t bode well for our general malaise. We’re always fond of Tea Lounge but Saturday afternoons tend to attract the story-time set and we haven’t the patience for such nonsense today.

Naidre’s in Cobble Hill comes to mind (the Park Slope location is deeply cherished but far too small for our purposes). So does Grey Dog on Carmine Street in Manhattan. But we’re nursing the seeds of a migraine here, so we’re calling on you. Where to, readers?