I slept until 2pm. I felt extremely guilty, because I had just slept through one of my precious days in NYC. I looked out the window and it was blowing a gale, and the internet told me it was 5 degrees. I dressed myself in layers of clothing that definitely didn’t go together, covered that with a coat, and went down do the cafe to have breakfast and enjoy the last few hours of sunlight.
I came back to the house, put on jazz music, got in my underwear, poured some red wine, and started to get ready for a date. I felt like I was in the start of some Woody Allen film. I imagined smoking a cigarette out the window into the stairwell, like some kind of sultry New York painting. I opened the window and a gust of ice and dust whipped my hair across my face, I screamed in shock and slammed the window shut. After a short pause I went back to dancing as though it never happened.
The date was wonderful.