Manhattan Saturday

TenKey came to town over the weekend, and we had one of those weekends that felt like the rising action in a Woody Allen movie — the part where the City itself is a character.  He and I have one of those easy, absurd relationships (as most of my relationships tend to be) where we sort-of just inherited each other, and stuck together, and wound up in cities all over the world together.

And now, when he comes to town, he sleeps on my sofa.

It was gorgeous in New York over the weekend.  It was one of those achingly beautiful New York weekends that you know won’t last; that you want to bottle up and keep and remember, because you know the summer will turn to crap.  You just know that the sucking, shit-smelling heat and humidity is right around the corner.

I went to the gym in the morning on Saturday, and TenKey slept in.  He’d been out late on Friday with friends, and I’d gone to bed early.  My non-running fitness regime, coupled with a brutal and shape-shifting work schedule, had zonked me by Friday.  I’d been sound asleep by 11pm.

So we took our differening schedules, and resolved to have a Saturday Morning.  One of those New York mornings where you have brunch outside at some local place; where TenKey and I would bitch about the quality of the coffee and tea.  Because we were well-known for being fussy like that.

Once he’d fully woken up and we’d both showered, we left to find a brunch spot.  When the vegan place was packed, we dialed down the yuppie asshole a notch, and settled on the Belgian place around the corner from me.  Peculiarly, in a two-block radius from my apartment, there are three Belgian cafes.  We sat outside under a patio awning and dined on exactly the things that hit the spot.

After Brunch, we walked the dog to the park at the end of my street (which is technically a silly thing to say, because I live a few blocks off Central Park on one end, and a few blocks off another park on the other end).

And then…crash.

We flopped on my sofa and watched the Greece vs Russia match, silently rooting for Greece.

I read some article saying that a Greek football victory was going to decide Greece’s economic future, I snorted.

Who wrote that? TenKey demanded.  He was a journalist — a professional blogger (the kind who actually got paid and ran a business) — of course he’d want to know who would pen such tripe.

I don’t know.  Someone on the Internet.

We both though on that, and then we didn’t.  Greece won.  I remembered that my toes were still painted “Dramatic Drachmas” — I’d not changed the polish and my badly-chipped pedicure was still sort-of holding up.

Then dinner.  We were off to a restaurant I love — modern British food.  I can’t escape the British, and I’m somewhat horrified that I actually love British food, since it’s notoriously bad.  But I like fish.  I like mushy peas.  I am a picky eater.  While I adore Asian food, I am a woman of contradictions, and on the other end of the spectrum, I like bland, plain, mashed up stuff.  That I would love a place that serves a lighter take on British food should come as a surprise to just about…no one.

We sat, with Kat and Matthew who had come to town, in the waning sunlight in an open area of this restaurant and laughed over a wonderful dinner.  Then we parted ways, with Kat and Matthew taking Roo with them so I could face a week on travel, and TenKey and I heading out to meet Kasey for a nightcap.

In sum, it was one of those days — long, lingering.  They didn’t come often, but each second of it had been absolutely perfect; cinematic.  Like the sky had been edited to Pantone 15-4020 Cerulean; like someone had scriped the screaming laughter in the park, and the Greek football win.  There had been fans blowing the perfect breeze; the friends had been shipped in from central casting.

It had been so perfect that it had almost felt like I was outside of it; looking in on it; not really living it.  Things that were perfect sometimes felt that way — like they couldn’t really be happening to me.  Was it possible to love something from a distance, even while one is living that very thing?

Sometimes I felt that way about my New York life.

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