My Real Life is in Brooklyn

Went to see Liz again this weekend--only for Saturday. No one puked on the bus this time, though I did fall down in the middle of the intersection in Chinatown and nearly took a woman with me. Falling always occurs in slow motion--I tripped and thought, Oh, no, and grabbed at the hand of a woman crossing and then I was flat on the street and she stared down at me wiht her mouth in an "oh!" as if I'd tried to mug her. So much for being cool. Did manage to get to Liz's street and meet her without incident and then we had to pass the same sad SPCA animals on the sidewalk in front of the laundromat. Back to her place where she made me spaghetti and then later Lita, my friend from Penn State, came by with some wine and we caught up--we are all grown ups now, it seems. Liz's friend, Phillipa picked us up and drove precariously to Williamsburg to a bar called Black Betty. Not many people there--I overtipped the bartender on the first round--this may have worked to our advantage later when we went out for a smoke en masse and returned to find our drinks cleared away because they gave all of us a free round to make up for it, even those of us who may have already sucked down her G&T. Later, we met the DJ who gave us a flyer about his band. He played pretty good music, and we danced, and then some other people started dancing. I was wearing Liz's brown cowboy boots that were a little roomy and so was only able to move my upper body with any kind of variation. A girl with an accent named Lily followed us out of the bar and interrogated us about our ages, jobs, and how we knew one another. I despised her, but wanted her to like me at the same time. We left around 12:30 or 1, back to Liz's to watch a super bad/awesome HBO soft core thriller from the 80's. I went to bed before Liz, but she said she suspects that the murdered was Alan Alda, even though she didn't manage to stay up for the ending either.

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