"Every silver lining's got a / touch of grey"
.
Jess got home from Middlebury on Thursday, so we talked on the phone for a while that evening while she cleaned cat litter out of her closet. She was going to NYC the next day to hang out with Middlebury friends and meet up with Greg for the weekend. Since I'll be at Seaside with Andy next week, I ended up tagging along to the city.
The tears and frustration of a sleepless Thursday night (that's the first time my brain has kept me up in years; either it was the coffee or I'm catching up on sleep?) only matter in that I had gotten just two hours of sleep when my dad dropped me off at the Bridgeport train station on his way to work.
As only Jess and I would do, we wanted to hang out in Fairfield until the Grand Central peak hours ended, but we missed the Fairfield station. We got off in Southport instead, and ended up finding a tiny diner with green leather booths and weak coffee.
In New York, we wandered somewhat aimlessly. Coffee at Pax, then lunch with Greg at 52nd and 6th. Jess knocked a glass of water all over Greg's lap, and I don't know who was more amused: Greg or I. She and I ambled through Bryant Park, took the subway to the West Village, and perused the Spanish section of a tiny branch library. Met up with Charlotte and Jeanette and her boyfriend at Washington Square Park, drooled over the farmer's market, ambled past tattoo parlors and 'freaky fun' stores. We bought coffee at a place stocked with giant burlap bags of beans--any kind of roast you could imagine. Charlotte ate a soydog in a tiny place with tin paneling on the walls and a condom dispenser that read "Protect Your Poot-Nanny." Jess and I hiked over to East Village so she could meet Greg and I could catch up with Andy and Jeb. Thick storm clouds and a strong wind threatened us as I walked her to the subway. I got myself confused (stupid winding roads) and wandered about in the rain for quite a while, as my phone battery slowly died.
Finally I found Andy and Jeb on Bleeker Street. They were soaked, but pumped to see Rancid. We escaped happily to the dry warmth of a bar on McDougal Street where we talked politics. (Our bartender was British--just like the ALL of the people who gave Jess and I directions over the course of the day. How odd.)
"Oh, man, I have to tell you something," I exclaimed, thinking of the text message I'll get from the Obama campaign when they choose the VP candidate.
"Wait, I have to tell you something first," Andy interrupted. He leaned over and kissed me long and hard. Jeb laughed.
Jeb was anxious to get over to the concert, so we switched to a bar near Irving Plaza. Galaxy Bar, to be exact. Stars twinkled around an earth-painted light fixture in the ceiling. We eventually parted ways, and I hopped on the subway to Grand Central, where I bought two slices of pizza I didn't need and used a pay phone to call my dad.
Just as I started to worry about falling asleep on the train and ending up in New Haven, the girl sitting on the station floor next to me struck up a conversation. She was wearing laced-up stiletto boots, studded cuff bracelets, and a black rosary around her neck. Her hair was bleached blonde, and her tan was pretty fake, but her eyes were genuine enough. Marcia followed me onto the train, and we chatted about music and traveling and meeting people. Then, a chubby young guy got on at Harlem and sat across from us. He had a timid little chihuahua with him, and he blinked nervously when he spoke. We were quite a trio, talking about dogs and...things. By the time they got off, I only had to fight the urge to doze for four stops. I made it.
Needless to say, once at home I slept--drunk, damp, dehydrated and dirty--quite like a baby.
Jess got home from Middlebury on Thursday, so we talked on the phone for a while that evening while she cleaned cat litter out of her closet. She was going to NYC the next day to hang out with Middlebury friends and meet up with Greg for the weekend. Since I'll be at Seaside with Andy next week, I ended up tagging along to the city.
The tears and frustration of a sleepless Thursday night (that's the first time my brain has kept me up in years; either it was the coffee or I'm catching up on sleep?) only matter in that I had gotten just two hours of sleep when my dad dropped me off at the Bridgeport train station on his way to work.
As only Jess and I would do, we wanted to hang out in Fairfield until the Grand Central peak hours ended, but we missed the Fairfield station. We got off in Southport instead, and ended up finding a tiny diner with green leather booths and weak coffee.
In New York, we wandered somewhat aimlessly. Coffee at Pax, then lunch with Greg at 52nd and 6th. Jess knocked a glass of water all over Greg's lap, and I don't know who was more amused: Greg or I. She and I ambled through Bryant Park, took the subway to the West Village, and perused the Spanish section of a tiny branch library. Met up with Charlotte and Jeanette and her boyfriend at Washington Square Park, drooled over the farmer's market, ambled past tattoo parlors and 'freaky fun' stores. We bought coffee at a place stocked with giant burlap bags of beans--any kind of roast you could imagine. Charlotte ate a soydog in a tiny place with tin paneling on the walls and a condom dispenser that read "Protect Your Poot-Nanny." Jess and I hiked over to East Village so she could meet Greg and I could catch up with Andy and Jeb. Thick storm clouds and a strong wind threatened us as I walked her to the subway. I got myself confused (stupid winding roads) and wandered about in the rain for quite a while, as my phone battery slowly died.
Finally I found Andy and Jeb on Bleeker Street. They were soaked, but pumped to see Rancid. We escaped happily to the dry warmth of a bar on McDougal Street where we talked politics. (Our bartender was British--just like the ALL of the people who gave Jess and I directions over the course of the day. How odd.)
"Oh, man, I have to tell you something," I exclaimed, thinking of the text message I'll get from the Obama campaign when they choose the VP candidate.
"Wait, I have to tell you something first," Andy interrupted. He leaned over and kissed me long and hard. Jeb laughed.
Jeb was anxious to get over to the concert, so we switched to a bar near Irving Plaza. Galaxy Bar, to be exact. Stars twinkled around an earth-painted light fixture in the ceiling. We eventually parted ways, and I hopped on the subway to Grand Central, where I bought two slices of pizza I didn't need and used a pay phone to call my dad.
Just as I started to worry about falling asleep on the train and ending up in New Haven, the girl sitting on the station floor next to me struck up a conversation. She was wearing laced-up stiletto boots, studded cuff bracelets, and a black rosary around her neck. Her hair was bleached blonde, and her tan was pretty fake, but her eyes were genuine enough. Marcia followed me onto the train, and we chatted about music and traveling and meeting people. Then, a chubby young guy got on at Harlem and sat across from us. He had a timid little chihuahua with him, and he blinked nervously when he spoke. We were quite a trio, talking about dogs and...things. By the time they got off, I only had to fight the urge to doze for four stops. I made it.
Needless to say, once at home I slept--drunk, damp, dehydrated and dirty--quite like a baby.