So I’m here. And I think I could live here. Sure. It’s hot and smelly and there are lots of people, yes.
I’m currently waiting for my husband to arrive. The wine is open, the a/c is turned on high. I’m recollecting all the people of my past I come to see once a year. The other events, not so much–they’re more straight forward and professional. Actual business is handled. Here, it’s a free for all event. Freebies in print, in drink, and of course, the reminiscing. I decided that I can’t stand people who only care about themselves so much that they forget to ask about you. And no, just asking about your husband doesn’t count. I don’t think you’re that great and neither should you.
But there was one person I wondered if I would see. Someone who most likely will stumble upon this post. Someone who is connected to the early part of my career. Someone who surely wants nothing to do with me. Someone who is a complete stranger now. But I looked across the corridors and around corners and thought: did she grow her hair long? Did she dye it? Is that her gabbing to someone?
No, I didn’t see her. And I won’t ever, I suppose.
New York City is a big place. Big enough for two strangers.