a story and conversation repository (est. 2000)

1997 ( 29 Years Old )

One day of this year I drove across town with an art student born and bred in new york city who never wore bras or shirts conducive to someone who does not wear bras, not that there's anything wrong with that. After moving into my apartment building she immediately established the Saturday morning bagel ritual, which began and ended in her apartment on the first appointed gathering. I personally and individually offended three of the nine bagel guests and am not claiming sole responsibility for the gathering's short lifespan but did feel I was in integral part.

The first time I met this girl, she was moving in and I passed her on my way down the stairs headed to see the movie Kids. She introduced herself (Alley) asked where I live (right above you) and wondered if she could go to the movie with me (if you want to). If you've never seen the film Kids you would not know that it is not a movie you want to see with a female you met 20 minutes prior. Anyway, Allison and I hung out from time to time after that all the same. Marty said she had a thing for me. I said she had a thing for everyone. Marty then said that I just liked hanging out with her because she wore these big gaping tank tops and no bra. I had no comment.

I had bought a 50's style breakfast table (green marble-like surface with a double Saturn ring base, very cool, very hip) from an antique shop run by a gay guy named Claude who only wore shirts with the sleeves ripped off (Marty also said Claude had a thing for me. I told Marty that she had a thing for Claude and assured her that my thing was only for her - smooth eh?). Allison really liked my table, inquired where I got it and asked if I would help her find one for her place. An hour later I found myself in a car driving through back city neighborhoods at an alarming clip. People typically cannot drive as fast as Allison through downtown roads because of the number of stop signs at every corner and turn. But, Allison had a system; about twenty feet before each stop sign she would place her hand on the horn, mid-conversation, and leave it there until we had cleared the intersection. In her behalf, the girl never took her eye off the road or foot off the gas, nor did she ever stop speaking, even once.