There are few neighborhoods in New York I have a hard time finding the best in. Like an asshole coworker, I try to find the good in everyone, even if they are a passive aggressive asshole sometimes. But Meatpacking? Ugh. Finding yourself running in and out of the Gansevoort with a drink in one hand and the arm of connections and friends and lovers and colleagues in the other is too much for the cobble stone. I woke up black and blue and flushed all over.


One response to “Meatpacking

  1. Hate the heels . . . not the cobble . . .

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