New York, New York!

This is my second night in New York, and even though this morning I was hungover, wearing the same clothes I'd been wearing since I got dressed Tuesday morning because my airline "misplaced" my baggage in Chicago, even though I was trying to find a brunch spot and the one I wanted to go to was closed and I ended up eating a weird omelette at a hole in the wall instead, and even though since I had no change of clothes nor shoes, I was stuck wearing the ridiculous high wedge sandals I'd worn on my flight(s), and since I was not just normal hungover but still-kinda-drunk hungover, I tripped and fell on the sidewalk on Second Avenue ... I felt very comfortable. It was warm this morning and I was sweaty and I felt very comfortable.

I don't want to use a loaded word like "home," but what I can say is that as soon as the cab made its dramatic lurch on 14th St. Tuesday night, I looked around at the brownstones and bars and bright lights, and dozens, hundreds of people out and about at midnight, and I felt something very similar to what I felt when I visited Seattle for the first time.

Not "home," but a feeling of comfort.

Checked in, and upon the advice of the front-desk girl, beelined down the street to the Beauty Bar, where I had two pints of Octoberfest before a really good-looking guy started buying me drinks. Unfortunately, his good looks intimidated me, which is why I ended up talking to his friend most of the time and then later ended up making out with him in a doorway.

The good-looking guy gave me his card and it was maybe a sign -- the guy's a literary agent and told me to send him my manuscript, while I told him that if he thinks it sucks, I want to hear that it fucking sucks, and he was delighted and called me a masochist.

Went to a farmer's market in Union Square. Finally got my luggage delivered. Had dinner at a place called Gotham, which I found in a book called "Table for One," a series of good places to eat alone in different cities. Thumbs up for sure -- great food, excellent service, and then I went to a place I found under 24-hour coffeehouses, only to find that it is actually a sweet little bistro. Had coffee and read the Village Voice. While I was in there, it began to storm, crazy with lightening flashing against the tall buildings. I had an umbrella and walked in the rain. I stopped in a doorway to have a cigarette as I watched people rush by, and I felt a little warm from the coffee and the soft music at the bistro, and I was soaked when I got back to my room and it all felt very romantic.