Chris Erskine: Our favorite 'noir bars,' dark sanctuaries on a blistering summer day
I am writing this love letter on the back of my wrist, in a handsome old dump that looks like it washed ashore during a storm. The object of my affection is the Harbor Room, a popcorn ball of driftwood, sly smirks and sticky beer. Purportedly, it is the smallest bar in Los Angeles and the third-smallest in the nation. This allows for a rakish intimacy. Total strangers confide. Mothers duck out for an hour here in the late afternoon.
Magic.
Look, just forward my mail here for the summer. I'm on sabbatical, after all, thinking cheap thoughts, trying to figure out life (and death) and all the little steps in between.
This week's passion: "Noir bars," my
