I'm in the Big Apple. Yesterday was cold enough my hands went white, but some wine and pasta and creme brulée put paid to that madness.
Now it's early morning, still drunk, and I have all day to keep that going.
Ah, but tomorrow, tomorrow night, I'm gonna be at this bar that I don't know where it is, but there it is on the flyer, so come, have a drink, pose for a Polaroid.
I'll be the black guy dressed not quite warm enough, with the 680 in his hand, and the belly full of booze.
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