"This reeks of New York clandestine affair spot," my friend said as he sipped a bourbon and ginger ($7) at this sports bar on Port Authority's second floor. "Your wife or husband would never think to look for you here." This Charlie Brown Christmas tree of bars, located in the shadow of the fancily renovated Leisure Time Bowling Alley, is the anti-Cheers: No one sticks around long enough to know your name. It's packed with transients and those whose chances of mingling anytime soon are limited. Women share drinks over their gargantuan bags that take up almost two seats; an old man dozes off by an abandoned popcorn maker and a hand-scrawled sign that boasts "Beer, it's not just for breakfast anymore."