The night life, the bright lights, the good-timing friends

The cold that was “brick” relented tonight. I made my way to Crown Heights in the falling snow, earlier than my normal Sunday hour, to meet up with Micah, Marxist Queen, at Barboncino.

Sundays are family. And I hesitate to make that sound trite, like I’m shoveling unlimited breadsticks down my gullet and chasing them with sticky sweet Lambrusco at Olive Garden. But it’s true. This is the family of rag tag beautiful people who adopted me, even though I’m the only one who doesn’t and never has worked at a restaurant.

How much I owe to Courtney that she’ll never know. My Tucson life changed because I started ending my shifts at Williams-Sonoma with trips to a family friend’s restaurant in 2013. What I learned about industry folk changed my life for the better.

Mikey and I agreed on one thing tonight. New Years liberated us from a hellish 2021. I remember New Years Dat spent drinking Prosecco and grapefruit juice with Jack, this lovely human I adopted, thinking how I rang in 2022 exactly as I had planned.

Good omens today from Misha. Three in a row. A hat trick.

Now for sleep. The snow turned to rain and all has melted…including and especially my heart. All is well, my loves. Rest your weary heads. I am in good keeping.

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