It's all about perspective at Harrison's Wine Bar: It's either a small place, or an intimate setting. The people are either (how do I say this without pissing off the PC police?) older, or they're mature. The brunet in the low-cut blouse and her date are either discussing your excellent sense of style or sizing you up for a late-night rendezvous. I'm going with option two. Here's why: While at Harrison's I sought insight from a guy I figured to be a regular. (Note: This is a re-enactment. The transcripts of this anecdote were lost along with many brain cells after a night of chilled chianti and Johnny Walker on the rocks.) "Dude," I say, "where are all the single women?" He says, "Not too many come in alone. Usually it's couples in here." I say, "That sucks for me, huh?" He responds, "Not necessarily." At this point the nu jazz playing sounds a lot like the Jeopardy thinking song. "Oh..." You see, from 5 p.m. to 2 a.m. every night, Harrison's pours wine and bubbly, and cocktails and beer, to thirty-, forty-, and fifty-somethings — to couples, the occasional singles, and groups who get really cozy. The setup is ideal: plush couches, dark drapes, and cinderblock walls that seem impenetrable from the outside. The red light from under the bottles and the black light's afterglow add to the sexy atmosphere. Some want to take their secret to a more private place, so they head to the patio where private gazebos complete with roll-down screens keep out pesky peepers. That would be me. Don't get the wrong idea, though. Harrison's is not a swingers' club. Not officially. But it's always good to remember that one is the loneliest number, it takes two to make a thing go right, three is company, and four, well, that's a party.