Big Apple Flavor at the Florida Deli

Indeed, most folks are happy to share all of their opinions here at the Flakowitz Bagel Inn. Chappaquiddick. That Tucker Carlson fella. That babe married to Dennis Kucinich? "You should see how the old men look at her," says one of the old men.

This is a good place. Coffee is a dollar. Almost no one's in a rush. You got your retirees, your folks with flexible schedules, and they're eating late breakfasts. They're ordering the four-egg omelets -- which, as the owner proudly points out, are made with at least six eggs -- and devouring the marble cake, which comes free with every meal before noon.

At the back of the restaurant is a mural of the city (you know which city), featuring a banner that reads "WELCOME BACK, DODGERS." Up front, two TVs run in-store ads for Flakowitz's brisket, and there's a signed photograph of a very young-looking Candice Bergen ("Best Deli; Love, Candice.")

Whither the Republican Party? Whither America? The folks at Flakowitz's don't seem too happy with the state of things -- though what New Yorkers ever are? There's Liss, a Democrat, who's annoyed with all the "evangelists" taking over the Republican Party. There's a Republican from Long Island who says if it came down to McCain vs. "that lady," he'd vote for that lady. Though he kinda wishes Bloomberg would run.

Giuliani is "too rough," one guy says. Too "difficult," says another. Yeah, he fixed up Times Square, but remember how he treated the schoolteachers? Plus, how's he going to win over the social conservatives with all those moderate positions? And don't forget the Bernie Kerik scandal! Everyone here knows what Giuliani did on Sept. 11, 2001, the way he helped the city. Some are grateful to him for that. But not everyone thinks that's enough to make him president.

Not everyone much cares.

There's Todd Kaplan, 36, a fitness trainer with a Playboy bunny tattooed on his biceps.

"I don't vote," says Kaplan, who is originally from Rockland County. "I hate politics."

"They're all crooks," says the old guy next to him, a Manhattan transplant who gives his name as Jerry K.

And then here, running the cashier box, is a true believer. Paul Skolnick, 33, moved down here from Queens a couple of years ago to help his cousin run the restaurant, and New York runs thick in his veins.

"I shall return one day," he pronounces.

Rudy is a "savior," Skolnick says, remembering the days when "you went down to the subway and you weren't sure if you were gonna come back up. . . . He cleaned up the city. I felt it was my city."