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Andrew gives me a call and we decide to go and have a quick pint after work. Nothing too crazy. I promised to be home early to help clean the apartment as is tradition for Persian New Year on Friday night. The Lady is at a friend's eating Korean so I don't feel the rush.

Andrew and I meet in the pub opposite the store of the company where he was made redundant from on Tuesday (Tommy Hilfiger) . Maybe not the best choice of bars. There's something going on down at Tribeca Grand: Heavy.com is relaunching with a Sky vodka free bar between 8 and 9. It's quiet as we turn up but remembering how things changed at that other bar on top of Soho House NY the other week; we order two each. Now a little conscious that 'Double fisting' is not an admired sport in this town, Andrew and I shuffle over the to the corner to hide away our second drinks. From there we can admire DJ El - and, boy, there's a lot to admire. The mixing may not be world class, but who cares from where we're standing.

The room fill soon with (mainly) white hip-hop boys and girls and a few fashion types. Not really 'fills' - it gets rammed. The music's bumping and it feels good to be with a tribe for once: moody, attitude, absorbed. A couple of lads look like they're wearing school uniform. I don't think I could fit in mine anymore. Andrew certainly couldn't.

The bar closes just as I get to the front for a third. Of course, we leave and Andrew suggests we call it a night. I say 'just another one' - of course he agrees and we even phone our girlfriends to tell them what we're doing - wow, we're getting well trained.

We take a stroll and have a poor pint of Stella at a 'jazz bar' close to the Grand. The jazz had finished (it was just past 9!) and when I ask the barman to top up the beer because of the large head he looks at me as if I was cheap. This will be the last one, I promise myself. Then Andrew gets a call. There's something happening at a place opposite Samba Sushi in the Village. Fancy it?

Well it's on the way home. It won't hurt. It's a walk and we enter a restaurant squashed into a triangular parcel of land. It seems they are drumming up custom by turning the place over to a DJ on a Thursday every month. I talk to a Hong Kong-American girl. We talk about immigration; I talk about my girlfriend. Oh, my girlfriend! Heineken down my gob, I say my goodbyes and rush home only to be distracted by an empty stomach. What can you do at this time of night but detour to get a Gyro....

Somehow it's 11.30 when I get home but I can't understand that as I have had so little to drink. The Lady is at home. Oh my god! I can't even make a lame attempt at waking up the neighbours by vacuuming the living room! The place is filthy, she accuses me.

Back to square one.

March 18, 2004 in Diary, Night Life Adventures | Permalink


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