03/14/25

    I left work a little earlier than normal, I felt as though a day like this couldn’t be wasted by being indoors any longer. Just when I was thinking I’d go off to Pisellino alone and have one or two drinks, G sent me a message of longing and we planned a casual run in. 

    Pisellino these days had become, even in the earlier hours of the night, a fussy amalgamation of trendy-spot-goers which, more often than not, was cause to briefly abandon a spot I’d usually frequent. However today, luck was on my side. The flirty server M and I had encountered about a week ago while having an after-work drink, got me settled outside at the very front of the cafe facing Grove Street. A more ideal seat couldn’t have been asked for.

    Having already downed a French 75 while waiting for a table at the bar, I was now slowly sipping on a gin and tonic with extra lime in an attempt to moderate myself while waiting for G to arrive.

     My mood had almost been ruined by a woman who while out on a walk with her dogs took it upon herself to stop every single worker around at that moment to complain, from what I could catch, about the rudeness of patrons seated outside and the illegitimacy of the establishments outdoor dining. I caught the rolling eyes of the Maître d' and could only hope that the woman realized sooner rather than later that her carping would be completely forgotten by the time 30 more paying customers were lined up out the door.

    The fine breeze and faint sound of jazz that poured out the open door of Arthur’s Tavern drowned out all of her noise and my mood was built back up by the dazzling way rays of sun shined, in golden streaks, down the street. The lingering warmth of the 60 degree day had allowed me to sit outside comfortably for the first time in months. All was well.

    G and I made light conversation and sipped slowly on our drinks. M, coming from work, joined us. The flirty server unfolding another cafe chair. By this time I’d been at Pisellino for 2 hours.

6:15 pm

H and I previously had plans to have dinner together but recently I have found dining in the city to be too tedious of a task. Every new restaurant is completely unavailable and the act of walking into a restaurant and waiting 40 or so minutes for a table is a total thing of the past. And more often than not the food is disappointing and expensive. It’s not worth my time trying something new but I also don’t want to tire of my usual hangouts. Instead I’d rather drink to forget that I’m hungry in the first place. H joined us. Then M’s friend E joined and Chef joined with Bowie. G must leave but we carried on in good spirits. Three more chairs were unfolded and squeezed into place remarkably well.

    The light of the heat lamps radiated a red-hot glow across the scene. The chilly cobalt sky contrasted vibrantly. The three drinks I've had kept me warm. I stepped outside the vignette to have a cigarette.

    The five of us went for dinner at Gene’s. The old wooden bar at the front of the restaurant was stacked—packed to the brim with the type of patrons you would expect in a classic New York establishment. H got friendly with the host, Chef bought a round of Manhattan’s. M, E, and I floated about the room, high off of pure energy. The atmosphere was electric. Suddenly the front door became a revolving door—our friend A, having dinner with a couple of notables, then our mutual friend T, having dinner with relatives. Familiar faces and friends and friends-of-friends. No night was complete without a constantly rotating cast of characters.

    Our group sat at the largest table in the back. Chef ordered a bottle of wine for the girls, terrible and tasted like green apples. H and him got smashed off of dry martinis. I folded origami hats out of our napkins and Chef nitpicked the surroundings in a way only a chef could. We were weird and wild and we had too much to drink and the food is unmemorable and we laughed a lot and were loud and the room was eating it up. There was a symphony of clinking glasses and of roaring laughter. Waiters weaved in and out of tables. A shatter here, a spill there. M and E’s friend L joined us before we began to leave. Walking out, striding toward the door in a confident drunk swagger, the room had become so jovial I felt as if I we were being cheered on. Passing by our friends and friends-of-friends, I was called out to. T stood up to hug me goodbye and introduced me to his sister. A and his table complement edmy outfit, asking where I got my jacket. I told them I love brands for old women like St. John and Lafayette 148. I was riding high.

    We took a big Escalade to a party that M and E’s friends were at, in a weird place on St. Marks. Chef and I joked about ditching to go to Sing Sing instead—I wanted to belt my heart out. 

    Up an elevator to a small dark room. The empty DJ booth played Shakira and Madonna and the Black Eyed Peas. Chef, H and I danced. We didn't know anyone here. We had to be the oldest people in the room. The crowd grew. Every time the elevator opened, it’s bright florescent lights beamed 10 more people into the crowd. H left. Chef, M, and I danced. M wanted to leave.

12:09 pm

I took a car to Asoko. I had to see A. I had a drink and some salmon sashimi and then went home when I had enough.

1 am

The car smelt like those stores that would sell waxy candles that glowed in the dark and merch with the Grateful Dead bears on it. I was listening to the new Playboi Carti album. I wanted to sleep. I felt incredible.

Playlist

I SEEEEEE YOU BABY BOI - Playboi Carti

afraid (feat. nate sib) - 2hollis

gold - 2hollis

Going Away To College - Blink 182

Swingin Party - The Replacements

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