We didn’t care about the Super Bowl—we cared about the open bar. The pent house hosted a New Orleans jazz band, myriad tv screens, passed appetizers and a bar overflowing with free vodka cocktails. We downed a few and settled on a couch, focusing more of our attention on each other than the game. We schmoozed. We exchanged knowing smiles. When I returned from the bathroom, he had gathered a small plate of sliders. “They’re all yours,” he said. The vegetarian smiled as I hungrily took the plate from him. His eyes were glassy and his grin was dopey. “I’m a good provider.”
Subway MapSubway Philosophy is about New York, culture, sex, publishing, memories, alcohol, or a combination of the above. Originally taken from drunken musings on the subway, it has evolved into something extraordinarily similar to most young blogs: which is to say, redundant, romantic, and woefully introspective.
Current Subway ReadingWhite Teeth