On the LES

I was so giggly. I simply could not help myself. And why would I want to?

The perfume reminded me of youth. The smell of Red Bull with the pre-dinner vodka. We ordered another drink, a bottle of wine, a shot, and then we stumbled down the Lower East streets arm in arm. When the dance floor emptied, we took pictures in the photo booth and I left them at the corner of Bowery and Houston with my southern accent and skipped home along the street. For a second I felt sixteen again.

I ran my hand along the brick walls, along the steel mesh, along the New York streets. On every corner, another City Monument kept me company, and I loved the city so. This is my home. These are my laughs.

Remember when we were, in fact, sixteen? I had that ache in my shoulder, when we drank, and it only went away when I had a smoke. I remember that feeling so well. Tonight, on Houston Street, I had that same feeling, that same ache. We are who we were, only older, supposedly wiser. We were young, once.

We will never be that young again.