It’s better if girls don’t poo. It really is.
And then the friend and I went walking around the LES, in search of a bar that wasn’t too crowded, and we found Cakeshop, with a DJ in the basement who soon made way for an impromptu psychic magic show, where the following sentiment was heard:
The Beatles never blamed their audience. If they went to an empty bar, they rocked until the walls were throwing panties at them.
And then the friend and I went upstairs — to the actual cake shop — where a cute boy behind the counter recommended the Death By Chocolate vegan cake, which I ate heartily.
After the chocolate, my friend made her way to the 2nd Ave subway station, and I walked back to 3rd Street, and this lovely apartment I am renting, and soon I shall go to bed. The noise from the street will lull me to sleep, as I ponder how much this strange city feels like home, and I relish my time in the small spaces I manage to carve out for myself in this big place where I somehow feel not so small.