  So despite all of my reservations and anxieties, I have finally returned to NYC for the first time in four years. It took three flights and several screaming babies, but here I fucking am. It’s a strange experience to travel so much while alone. I prefer to travel with a partner, like when I was with Jonathan in Spain and Mexico, or when I had that fucking brilliant trip to Pigport with Manny, Elray and the other Jonathan in January. Being with another person helps you remember the details, and it shapes your vision in a fuller way, I think. Plus, it’s rather sexy if you’re with the right person. Even your exhaustion becomes lovely. But I was alone today.
And slightly hungover from last night’s gin. I don’t remember much about my flight from Austin to Chicago, but I had an interesting time at O’Hare Airport. I’ve always liked that place. I laughed in condescension when I saw that there’s a place in the airport called ‘The Artists’ and Writers’ Bar.’ Like what do they have in the Artists’ and Writers’ Bar, I wondered. Barrels of gin? Opiates? Typewriters? Licensed psychotherapists? What bullshit. But as it turns out, I have to give it up to the Artists’ and Writers’ Bar because I was desperately craving a Peach Snapple, and they were the only place that had one.
For $2.81, I might add, but at least they had it. There was also this really hot Spanish guy in the terminal near me. He was lying on the ground a few feet away from me, and I could see most of his chest and abs because of the weird angle at which he was lying.
I didn’t mind so much when I noticed that our take-off was delayed. I should add that I get rather emotional about trips and what it means to leave everything, even if it’s only for a few days. So it was strange when, on one of the flights, I put on the on-flight audio entertainment. One of the stations was playing all of Alanis Morrisette’s singles. For various reasons, the songs made me think of Manny, who seems incredibly far away right now. Well, I suppose he is – he’s in Texas, after all.
I think about him a lot recently. Anyway, these are details. Let’s get to New York. It’s very different. Granted, I’ve only been here a few hours so far, but it feels different. I still love it, of course. Maybe it’s me being old. Yvette said I looked like an adult today when I got to her apartment. That’s strange for me. I’ll think more about this when I’m not so tired. We had dinner at this Indian restaurant called Milon in the Lower East Side. As soon as I walked in, I fucking fell in love with it. The whole place is maybe like 12 to 15 feet wide – you feel like you’re in a shoebox. But it’s also dim and lit with hundreds of hanging red lights. There are flowers, lights, decorations crawling up the walls and hanging from the ceiling.
The walls are papered in something that looks like sexy gift wrapping. They play techno Hindu chanty shit. I felt like I was in a very happy dream. Definitely the best dinner I have had in a very very long time. Anyway, this is getting long, and Jonathan’s wedding is tomorrow, so I’m going to chill with Yvette for a while and then go to sleep. 
