In search of [burp] NYC's sudsiest savings [burrrrp]. Drunk.
Man cannot live on dollar grub alone. Sometimes I need a beer or three to sand down my rough edges. But I'm physically unable to pay $6 a pint, and I refuse to fight the herds that turn open bars into feeding time on the farm. My dream is to pay and tip a buck a beer. Impossible?
No way. So on a pleasantly temperate afternoon, I board my trusty bike and zigzag from the West Village to Murray Hill, from Williamsburg to Park Slope, in search of the almighty—and mighty elusive—dollar beer. —Joshua M. Bernstein
Photos by Sam Horine