The L Magazine identifies six NYC bars where you might get lucky if you claim to be a writer.
Can’t vouch for the other suggestions, but I do know a guy who enjoys perving on young White Horse Tavern tourists. This is a precise codification of his strategy:
Sure, it’s filled with hedge fund frat boys, most of whom think Dylan Thomas is a catching prospect in the Yankees farm system, but every now and then, a starry-eyed “literary” tourist will happen by, looking for a little magic. Be that magic, be the romantic poet, get laid.
Don’t forget to carry a volume of Pablo Neruda’s saddest works, a small notebook, and a pack of cigarettes to pluck at mournfully. (Image of Dylan Thomas at the bar taken from PBS.)