The Cigar Box is low-lit, with roses on each table and a humidified cigar room in one corner. A guy plays keys and sings sappy tunes at one end of the bar, and a naked-lady painting hangs just above a liquor shelf. Late into the weekend hours, patrons who enter are greeted by a raised-glass salute and cheers. Pretty dames clad in revealing outfits sit on the bar stools; some are there on dates, some are nude dancers on break from the club next door. The guy behind the bar is cloaked in black. He has an Italian accent, and he's curt. Bring a fedora, if you dare.
