Poor Lamar Odom . . .
This just in — the Meatpacking District is full of yabbos:
Posted: September 2nd, 2008 | Filed under: Manhattan, Well, What Did You Expect?The bearded man wore a baseball cap and an NBA jersey — Odom, No. 7. He stood casually on Ninth Ave., conducting late-night business as usual: drug dealing to club denizens.
As last call approached, so did a customer in a pinstriped shirt. Money changed hands. The dealer slipped something into the man’s pocket as oblivious revelers strolled past.
It’s a common sight in the club-heavy Meatpacking District, which has replaced Chelsea as the epicenter of the Manhattan party scene — and home to all the woes that follow.
The venerable neighborhood, long-ago habitat of butchers in bloodstained aprons, hosts an assortment of less savory sorts each weekend: Drunks. Cokeheads. Dealers.
. . .
The no-holds-barred party, as witnessed by Daily News reporters, knows few boundaries. One reporter was solicited by three dealers within two hours on a Saturday night.
Reporters watched a pair of twentysomething club girls vomit in tandem; a man urinate as he weaved along Washington St.; another man so blitzed he appeared paralyzed on W. 13th St.
