'Til the Morning Comes

Last weekend’s holiday extension made Manhattan seem half-deserted, almost on the brink of stillness, offering a welcomed change of pace. Saturday was a watermelon-flavored bust, an unanticipated dent in my four day weekend. Other than that, there was a night in Williamsburg (Union Pool, Supreme Trading, blah, blah, blah), two street fairs, a long, stormy walk with my favorite neighbor, an original Velvet Underground pressing (tarnished now), a rendezvous with my Scottish pal, a brief tutorial on American pop culture, Katz Deli, to go margaritas, and about two dozen barbeques.

Independence Day presented a major life decision: is it best to spend your first New York 4th in Manhattan, in the middle of it all, or in Brooklyn, with a view of the fireworks above Manhattan? (My life is so hard.) We chose the latter, beginning in Bushwick and then jumping from one Brooklyn rooftop to the next, eventually ending our night back on Orchard Street, underneath a pirate flag, six flights above ground, on yet another roof. Now, with Wednesday morning being the new Monday morning, I wish I hadn’t pretended that Tuesday night was Saturday night.