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I’ve been commuting all week to Battery Park City (which I call Faketown, because it’s like a squeaky-clean, shooting-a-movie-in-Vancouver-and-calling-it-Manhattan bizarro world) to see my dog. The dog’s staying with friends while Sean and I look after two other dogs who once belonged to Sean’s father and now need new homes. Steve and Demian, our Faketown-living, dogsitting friends, love making cocktails as much as we do. They are particularly fond of drinks with ribald names (The Sandy Vagina, The Butterface, The Big Red Gay; I am literally retyping these off a chalkboard in their apartment), drinks that taste like edible things (the PB&J), and trompe-l’oeil drinks, like Little Beers.