![handlebar austin gay bar handlebar austin gay bar](https://imagesvc.meredithcorp.io/v3/mm/image?q=85&c=sc&poi=face&w=1600&h=800&url=https:%2F%2Fstatic.onecms.io%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2Fsites%2F28%2F2017%2F07%2Frain-on-fourth-austin-LGBTQBARATX0717.jpg)
Austin shook his head: “I have this problem-whatever shit I do, people have sex.” The Night Heron’s vibe is more boîte than love hotel, although one crew member noted that he’d seen a couple disappearing down the ladder onto the roof one evening.
![handlebar austin gay bar handlebar austin gay bar](https://urbanmatter.com/austin/wp-content/uploads/2020/08/sellers.jpg)
“ That’s sexy!”) Edward Norton also visited one night, observing that “doing something you’re not supposed to do definitely seems to make a lot of people want to make out.”Īustin’s most significant previous project, with Ida Benedetto, his romantic and creative partner, was the Illicit Couples’ Retreat it began when they stumbled on Penn Hills, an abandoned resort in the Poconos, and decided to redo seven rooms to create an “intimate adventure” for seven couples for one night. But a young bartender couldn’t help gushing over a recent appearance by Adam Driver, the actor who plays Adam on “Girls.” (“We were all talking about 3-D printers,” she said. One of his brothers recalls an early fondness for cozy, watertight spaces: “We used to carry him around in a five-gallon bucket, because he liked it.”Īustin is quick to point out that the guest list at the Night Heron is democratic, and he never knows who’s going to show up. The youngest of six children, Austin describes his early education as a mixture of homeschooling and unschooling against his parents’ wishes, he later put himself through Amherst. His parents, followers of an apocalyptic group called the Move, were classical musicians who farmed, worked in commercial fishing, and sold souvenirs to tourists. Luckily, the adjacent building is housing for the blind.”Īustin grew up on Chichagof Island, off the coast of southeastern Alaska, in an agricultural commune owned by the Mt. Dirby informed the other revellers, “This is the only part of the journey during which you could be seen.
![handlebar austin gay bar handlebar austin gay bar](https://media.timeout.com/images/103933172/image.jpg)
“Sh-h-h,” Austin admonished, propelling her toward the exit. “I love the piles of rubble everywhere,” one wobbly guest said, mid-descent. Whiskey cocktails are the signature drink-there’s a choice between the bittersweet North Brother Island or the “earthy-spicy” Mill Rock Island, both named for the East River nesting spots of the night heron-and, after two or three of them, the staircase down can be a challenge. The Night Heron has no insurance, and the building’s landlord doesn’t know it exists one evening, votive candles bouncing to the beat of forty dancing feet resulted in two people catching (briefly) on fire. The earnest sidewalk preparations suggest the Hardy Boys on a camping trip-walkie-talkies, secret knocks-but the risks Austin is taking are considerable. A pair of musicians from the Gypsy punk band Amour Obscur performed on a stage, mounted halfway up the tower, that was barely big enough for the double-bass.Īustin, his helpers, and the musicians sneak into the building every night, crossing from a neighboring rooftop or climbing up a fire escape they then ferry the guests up from the front door via a rickety staircase. “We have a seven-month-old, and this is the first time we’ve gotten a babysitter,” the woman said, looking a little dazed. The crowd on a recent evening (six couples) included the owner of two gay night clubs a twenty-five-year-old Dutch gallery worker, who had brought her roommate as a birthday present and a young couple from Hoboken. “I like to be on top of things,” he explained.Įach pair of guests at the Night Heron is sponsored by a previous pair: the invitations, at two hundred and fifty dollars per couple, are issued in the form of a pocket watch and a phone number to call for instructions. (He dabbles in origami.) His favorite projects involve heights. He has a handlebar mustache and wore a fedora and a tailcoat with an intricately folded pink silk pocket square. Austin, a slight thirty-one-year-old with a passing resemblance to Marcel Proust, waited at the top of the ladder to greet his guests. A spinet became the bar, where a cluster of purple tulips rested in a lab jar alongside a handmade sign: “Warning-No Trespassing.” The effect was like being inside a candlelit sauna. Austin, describes his work as “transgressive placemaking.” He built the interior fixtures from three deconstructed pianos. Since February, more than seven hundred visitors had climbed a ladder up through a trapdoor into the belly of the water tower, which housed the Night Heron speakeasy. Dirby pointed up to one such tower directly above their heads. What do you see?” Three couples obediently looked out from the roof of a decrepit eleven-story building in lower Manhattan, which they had entered illegally, by night, with the help of a nattily dressed guide named Dirby.