coast swappers

NYC native Sal and I connected in my hometown years before I moved back East- and now he's considering returning to his roots! While in town feeling things out- we hooked up after I finished up at work in Midtown East. We wove around the miserably hot train station- to eventually catch the Six to Union Square.

First on our agenda: the opening event of Brooklyn Industries' new store. Snacks, sparkling lemonade and sample sale digs! Sal selected a few thin sweaters (dressy for the Left Coast, quick beer-in-the-neighborhood-wear, for NYC)- Offering up solid taste, he insisted that I purchase a wool dress in camel with dark brown piping, and a super soft plaid jacket with a belt at the natural waist.

The evening wandered into lower Manhattan. We perused boots in the East Village and found ourselves opting to take the D to Grand for a few drinks. We stepped off the train and pushed through a slight crowd. Sal erupted, "What is that smell?"

"Chinatown"

"Ugh"

"Fish balls, right?"

To be honest, It doesn't matter how many times I pop around here, I'm always seemingly disoriented and going the wrong direction, until I realize it a few blocks later, when I'm about to hit Little Italy. In good company, Sal was good humored about it. I approached the discreet door at Grand and Essex,

"Where are we? Do you even know where you're going?"

"Sure" I pushed the door to the East Side Bar company open.

"You really need to know about this place, don't you?"

We sunk into the prohibition style venue to sip slowly and divulge in our Coast swap. Although I am deeply content with my transplant to NYC, there is something primal and satisfying about being with friends from back home. I'm addicted to the separation of the environments, and more so, being with my people, in a place that is not home. Things happen. Information is exchanged. Plans are formed. (In other words, all you kids reading this from the Pacific Northwest: come visit).

After our third round of outrageous laughter, the Bar Company began to fill, we requested our tab- a scratch piece of paper with $41 handwritten on it- and stepped into the night.

"Cab?" I offered.

"We're subway people, come on"

"I'm toasty"

"We're taking the train."

I gave up. I knew I was simply trying to avoid walking what seems lto be a longer distance when you're heavy with buzz- A few mistakes cajoled us onto the F line.
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Park Slope neared, a man stepped on. A subway performer. One I hadn't seen yet- he turned on a boom box and began to break dance. An Asian women exhibited an impressively disgusted facial expression for the remainder of the ride. We pushed through the laughter to meet Vadim at Rachel's for happy-hour and quesadillas. It got to that point in the night- the one when you realize you have to be in the office at 8:00am the next day, but hey- no mind. Let's go to Union Hall. Bacce ball, beer, wine! Easy lighting, bookshelves. Let's do this.