I have a love/hate relationship with New York. It appears that New York feels the same about me. The Subway oozed black goo on my head while riding to meet Steph B, high school swimming buddy, for coffee. Later, while sipping said coffee and enjoying the sunny day a pigeon proceeded to poop on my head, shirt, and skirt. That’s good luck in some cultures, right?
On the positive side, NYC lives up to its reputation of always having something going on. On a random Tuesday night Maggie, her mama, and I were out until 2 am dancing to the best cover band ever at Black Fat Pussy Cat by NYU. Photos are too incriminating to post here. ;)
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