New York Times

There aren’t many of them, but some buyers and renters are coming to New York even while thousands have left to escape the coronavirus.

MIDDLETOWN, N.Y. — As Equilibrium Brewery opened for business here on a recent Saturday morning, fans were already lined up outside for a fresh batch of its hazy-colored ales.

The travelers, who came from Massachusetts, New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Rhode Island, snapped up as many cans and bottles as they could buy, at $16 a four-pack. After a sip or two by tailgates, some headed out in search of a meal, their tourist dollars funneled into a downtown betting on a rebound.

In Alphabet City, a stylishly scruffy part of Manhattan’s East Village, civic pride sometimes comes with a dose of gallows humor.

A couple of decades ago, when violent crime related to drug-dealing was a concern, especially on the easternmost blocks, both arrivals and longtime residents seemed to take the problems in stride. The “A” in Avenue A stood for “alive,” according to a popular saying, while Avenue “B” was for “breathing,” Avenue “C” for “comatose” and Avenue “D” for “dead.”

Today, in a spiffier era, that guide might need an update.

LIKE iced tea, perhaps, or casual Fridays, outdoor pools are in many minds forever linked with summer. After all, the sensation of sun on wet skin after a few dips in the deep end just about sums up the season.

But that pleasure is denied to most apartment-dwellers in New York City. If their building has a pool at all, it is probably of the enclosed kind.

Of the approximately 150 pools in residential buildings in Manhattan, only about 15 are outside, according to the city’s Department of Health and Mental Hygiene; some of those 15 are in private town houses.

JEN PEPPER and Matt Jones, from opposite ends of a lime-colored hall, are furtively dating. Constantine Boym throws 100-guest vodka-fueled parties across from a room with a disco ball, under which sits Michelle DiBona, who sometimes sports a tie-dyed blouse. Gossip swirls about Ted Gottfried, whose nude seaside ukulele strumming is a source of fascination. No one seems to know who stole a sandwich from the common refrigerator a few months back, prompting a minor scandal.

Welcome to 131 Varick Street, which for better or worse might be New York’s most college-dorm-like office building.