When I was thirteen, it was all the rage to have Bar Mitzvah parties at this restaurant right under the Manhattan Bridge-- I think it was called "The Lighthouse." We'd all get driven down there after Synagogue, and go completely apeshit running around the place, drinking soda and eating kosher pizza. A few of us-- the more adventurous ones-- would slip outside and go hang out in the abandoned lots along the water. The whole place had an air of mystery and decrepitude that's very much gone today.
Related: looking Northwest from the same roof.
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