All the dead turkeys
So last night G and I went to Le Petite Grocery because Martha makes the best damn cosmopolitan in this city. We ran into G and J, a handsome couple obviously in love. I told G that I had had my nineteenth nervous breakdown about the LaLa and had called my mother – who responded like a mother for a change and calmed my nerves. And G entertained me with men stories.
Then we went to St Joe’s and decided it was way too smokey and headed to Monkey Hill where we ran into C (who named his baby after G) – it’s the first I met him, but I’ve heard about him, great guy and then we went to the Kingpin where we ran into the Czech and his band of merry men from Russia and thereabouts. One is a fine furniture maker so I took his card as at some point I will need furniture for the LaLa.
There was a festive atmosphere everywhere we went and I thought about Richman’s article – about how we are partying our way to the grave – and I thought “and this is a bad thing?” Then it was time to make our way back to Midcity, where we thought about stopping at Ralph’s, but instead chose our respective beds.