To feel good, only to be dashed cruelly to the ground, and break in a million little pieces

The beautiful New York weather and three day weekend inspired to go out on this Saturday night. So I shaved, dollied myself up, donned my newly purchased tote bag, and left the apartment.

I felt pretty good about everything as I was having dinner with a friend, followed by a postprandial drink at a local coffeeshop. When I left, the barista on his cigarette break asked me if I was a designer. I, feeling good about how I put together my outfit, glowed, even though I played it cool. [1]

We made our way down three blocks to go to a concert at a local bar. The next person to speak to me was the bouncer, who looked me up and down. His first pronouncement arrived in question form: “Did you just get out of bed?”

[1] When I was in Paris, my friend Tom and I had our pictures taken by an aspiring fashion student for her work on “street fashion.” I felt good then too.


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