Stephanie Klein's Greek Tragedy

It’s 4:09 am on Friday night, Saturday morning really.  My night began at Hiro, then rolled onto champagne at Pop Burger, followed by a roll at BED.  If you find yourself on 27th Street, going to BED, think twice, unless meeting a bathroom textile worker who lives in New Jersey, but uses “but I work in Manhattan” as some kind of selling point, is your idea of a good time.  Not to mention that half of Long Island is there.  They no longer live there, only visit for Passover and summer barbecues, but they seek a good time at BED, behind velvet ropes and guest lists that make them feel important.  I had a water and waited for my friend to finish her drink so we could leave… and press onto fun.  Fun was an apartment party, a last days of disco evening, on Greene and Grand… indeed.  Lots of Green.  Lots of Grand.  My friend made off with a boy.  I made off to Big Nicks for waffle fries at 3am, then into bed to watch Emma with Linus, to post this at 4:16 am, and to miss, feeling hollow and passed over, hating that I’m not sharing Passover with anyone but myself.