Swelter

A recent rash of late-night possibilities, despite the well-known fact that nothing clever is ever said after 2:00 a.m. Such as the new after-hours club Uptown, nee Eclipse, suitable for those with more than conversation on their minds. And "Beach Ball," last weekend's one-nighter at Torpedo. Major fun, from the look of the invitation: "After Hours Bounce With Us!!! Special Appearance By Sweet Pussy Pauline. Doors Open 4am Until???" Really, an idea whose time has come, a credit to this fair city.

It really is a great town, and somehow the sheer nonfuckedness of metropolitan life keeps coming up at the most unlikely places. Like, for instance, Regine's at the Grand Bay Hotel, local glitz institution and a nightclub that inspires all sorts of cozy memories. The Eighties, Miami Vice-style dealers, and fun rich people without last names. The time the boxer Alexis Arguello, in his heyday as Mr. Nightlife, insisted we join his entourage for an evening of high jinks. Drunken dancing with socialites in conga lines, everyone screaming ­Ole! in unison. In a frenzy of nostalgia, we dropped in recently for a glamour fix, but curiously, nothing happened to us. At all. In the end, time really is the biggest fucker of all.

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