What do you get when you combine one evening walk through Times Square (since it’s all that separates your new office building from your old office building and friend):
with one amazing Japanese speakeasy (with to-die-for sashimi):
with one Beardo (along with another, not-pictured, bearded, lady friend who made herself a gnome beard out of cotton balls):
with hookah (photo courtesy of some dude whose last name rhymes with Bonsevik):
? One hell of a New York moment/night, that’s what.
A homeless man hissed at me like a cat yesterday, btw. I didn’t startle, so he stared me down for quite a long while. It was uncomfortable. He smelled like a port-a-potty.
And my knee still hurts like a bitch. Did I mention my knee? It was my third day at NYT: Friday. And on my way to work in the morning, I was crossing 2nd Ave in a deluge. I had to hold my umbrella up extra high so that the bus driver, who was sitting at a changing light, would see me way down on the road and decide not to accelerate too early and, you know, run me over. Then I ate shit. Well, really, I took a knee. And said (right) knee now has a huge bruise and off-putting scab to prove it. It hurts. My pride should hurt even more, especially since I spent the entire day in leggings with a huge hole over the knee, but for some reason it’s the physical pain that gets me. I even introduced myself to the editor of the entire NYT with my blood-stained knee injury on Friday. It looks much worse now, but at the time it was just like a little baby thing:
And so if anyone has any extra pain killers, I’m in the market. I could have used one when walking up and down a million subway stairs to get from the NYT building to the crosstown S to the uptown 6 today on my way to meet a princess. (Seriously! I met a princess today!)
