Sept 8th

Last night I met up with some friends from a past life, just to realize that I like some people better in the memories I have of them. After a few drinks in a bar so up north that Broadway was almost south again, we headed downtown to Astor to see our beloved Alamo. But in a sudden change of plans we decided to walk to Union Square to reminisce about idealistic philosophies, useless protests and about joining movements for the wrong reasons. There were some expressed feelings of regret, but none from me: I’d make each and every mistake all over again.

We watched the baton ballet girls all dressed in black and dancing with fire; and the random skaters grinding and flipping their skateboards with enviable grace. I was glad to see that despite all the glass and big names, Union Square is still a free non-judgmental place to hang. There was a group of sexually disoriented teenagers, a vigorous smoker, a few homeless people, a girl coming from a Spanish Rock concert where she lost her cellphone and hundreds of other people that only stayed for a few minutes. At about 3am a group of South American guys in their thirties sat near us with a guitar full of old song fragments. I sang from my subconscious sad songs about other people’s past sufferings and I felt relieved. We made friends with the bohemian group and found out they were really from New Jersey and were waiting to get rid of the alcohol in the designated driver’s system. When it was nearly 5am I called it a night and came home to sleep. It was a nice night, the only thing that was missing was my rebel to document it all. If it wasn’t for the gum on my pants I’d think it was a dream.