I woke up at Wilson Avenue, having slept through my stop. It was 20 minutes until the next train back in the right direction. I walked out of the station. There was a cemetery behind me and no black cars driving by for me to flag down and carry my drunk self home in. I put on the Blood Orange album and started to walk home.
There was a bottle of poppers in my jacket pocket. I kept on sniffing from the poppers every block or so. It was a beautiful night, a magical experience. Everything was blurred, glittering, and hilarious.
After work and going to the gym, I went to a copywriting class in Dumbo. We all had brought beer to class since we were having class on a Friday and just ended up drinking and watching music videos and talking. It was really nice. Afterwards, some of us went to Superfine for some more drinks. I was already feeling a little tipsy and in love with the world. I brought a bunch of my classmates over to my friend's house in the East Village. Natasha Lyonne was on the F train, looking like she was having lots of fun. It was Friday night, New York City - everyone was.
At a bodega, I bought beer and cigarettes. They had a huge display case of poppers. My classmates were unfamiliar with this amazing product so I bought a bottle of Rush and introduced them to it.
We sat in a backyard under strings of white lights and drank beer and sniffed poppers. I did some Adderall. I took a bunch of shots for some reason, four at least - various people continually saying they wanted to do shots with me, me unable to say no.
The group wandered to Phoenix. The poppers were passed around. I danced to various songs, hit on various boys, and when people said they were migrating to Eastern Bloc, that's when I headed home, tried to. Slices were bought at Muzzarella that I stuffed my face with while waiting for the train.
Soon enough I was out on streets I had never walked before and which were incredibly beautiful, aging row houses built with roofs forming a perfect line from one house to the next, the entire block the same height, Latin bars still open with sounds and harsh lighting spilling out on to sidewalks, corner bodegas that never close, cars cruising by either blasting music or moving sinisterly and slowly down streets as if looking for something. I would sniff from the poppers and take in all these sights. These sights were coupled with the sounds of the amazing Blood Orange going through my ears, my whole body, as I walked alone through unfamiliar neighborhoods feeling both secure and vulnerable at the same time, the night perfect in this moment.