Last night I was in Brooklyn licking raw Luthier wounds. One of my favorites made the evening, like always.
I tipped topless women and laughed loudly. I was twirled to tracks that played on a juke box in a Cony Island bar, catching up with a bartender I used to see regularly.
I had fun for the first time since my birthday. Last week was a little whack.
Today, with my sister staying with me from Australia, I’m going to walk down the east side and visit my favorite raw shop.
Heartbreak doesn’t move. It sticks to you like tar. And it doesn’t go away. And it never gets easier. I actually find each time is always worse.
But then, at the same time – it’s always better the next time. Also, thank goodness for Brooklyn.