A friend asked what Franco and I do these days.
I said, “Nothing really. Just read and drink coffee. Sometimes we see other humans, but mostly we just read and drink coffee.”
Gone are the days of drinking until 4 a.m. (though we’ve had nights like that). Or lying around recovering from nights like that (I guess one can’t exist without the other). Or riding planes, trains and buses en route to and from each other (because, hey, we live together now. WOO.).
Which means we have more time to do the things we do by ourselves, together.
I know what you’re thinking.
You’re in New York! Aren’t you supposed to have lofts and go to parties in lofts and know people who know people who have parties in lofts?
Sorry, my friend. It’s not that kind of story. This is a Queens kind of story. An I’m-livin’-in-the-same-apartment-as-my-invisible-Greek-landlord-who-lives-next-to-some-gruff-but-nice-older-Greek-Italian-gentlemen-who-hang-out-on-the-stoop-all-day-talking-all-kinds-of-politics-and-societal-situations-but-still-remember-to-say-hi kind of story.
And in my story, we party, all right. We just do them alone. Or with one other person. Preferably somewhere quiet. Definitely air-conditioned.
At our parties, instead of drugs, we got sandwiches. Instead of kegs, we got coffee.
And for entertainment, we got them all. Fiction! Nonfiction! Sometimes with pictures.
So, hang onto your trousers. I’m about to show you a weekend in the life of us.
It doesn’t get any more exciting than this. Continue reading “A Queens Kind of Party”
