Into The Void

On more than one occasion, I have been asked, "How on earth do you get around?" This is because I often give the impression of being lost, even in neighborhoods that I should be familiar with after nine months of living here. When lamenting to one of my dearest, in town from Arizona for the weekend, that I can never seem to be on time for anything in this city, he tells me it’s okay; my continual tardiness imparts an air of mystery.

Last weekend, after my usual course of trial and error, I managed to make it to the Band of Horses show at the Bowry, the Lolita bar, and the Whiskey Ward, to bid farewell to my oldest friend of all, who is jumping ship to Boston (utter sacrilege).

I’m embarrassed to confess that I do not at all know my way around Queens, which is why, in a series of blunders, we almost spent our Saturday night in Jamaica. Yeah, you heard me right: four, white, liberal arts educated kids didn’t make it to a party in Queens because they were fucking lost.

Moving on: I do, however, know how to get to My Moon, in Brooklyn, and onto the rooftop of one of the best spots in Williamsburg, where, upon seeing the view, my newest friend, who just moved here from Rome, threw up his hands and exclaimed, "Manhattana! There’s so many people!"