I thought about writing about the best places for kissing in New York.
Park Avenue in the 80s, in Wintertime;
Park Avenue in the 50s, in Springtime;
Outside of Gramercy Park, in Summer, by accident;
On the Second Floor of Bloomingdale’s, near the elevators, with a cup of Forty Carrots froyo melting in your hand;
On an abandoned floor in the MetLife Building;
Outside of the St Regis, after Champagne under Old King Cole;
Cherry Hill, Central Park — the Marathon Finish area;
Under the front awning of my apartment building, out of line-of-sight of the doorman, after waiting a very long time.
I suppose that to even entertain these memories is to dwell in the past. But each of these places and kisses is an exquisite memory.
I think everyone does their best kissing in New York City.
(Throughout the month of June, I’ll be writing a series of New York-related posts, and/or inviting some friends to guest post about their New York experiences, to celebrate my eight years in New York City.)