28 February 2013

Terry Doesn't Live Here Anymore

When I first moved to New York, I lived in Brighton Beach. Which meant if I was going to have late night party times in Manhattan, I'd need a couch to crash on. This was in the early days, before I understood casual sex, and the strangers' beds that are included in the deal. So every weekend, sometimes for the whole weekend, I would crash on my friend Ryan's couch (futon) in the East Village. He lived on 3rd St and 2nd Ave, a few buildings down from the Hell's Angels HQ. It is said to be one of the safest blocks in the city.

When it came time to head back to Brooklyn, I'd sometimes walk to Union Square rather than taking the closer 2nd Ave F and getting off at 14th Street to get the Q. Sometimes I did it probably because it was nice out, and it was an alright walk, not too far, decent exercise. Probably more I did it because I could take the opportunity to walk by my ex boyfriend's apartment building. He lived at 215 E. 10th St. I'll probably never forget that address. I mean, it's been eight years since then. But I'd helped him find that apartment, I'd mailed things to him there, I'd shown up at his doorstep one day, unannounced, when things were ending. It's a memorable kind of address. I did run into him a few times, in the East Village, but never near his apartment. I wrote about running into him and a subsequent brief and ill advised rekindling, and posted it on here, but he found it and didn't like it, the truth of it, seeing himself accurately described for the whole world to see, or just my few friends who read my blog. So I took it down. I can be merciful.

By the time the rekindling became unkindled, for the last time, he'd moved to Brooklyn, with his girlfriend, and at any rate I'd long since stopped walking by his building, hoping for a run-in, even though by then I was living on the LES and traipsing about the E. Vil on the regs. Then I moved to Brooklyn, and my E. Vil hang time dwindled to almost nil, so walking down 10th Street to get from point A to point B became a rare occurrence, indeed, but whenever I did, I would still look out for house number 215.

Today I was walking down 10th Street from the east side to the west side. I realized where I was when I passed St. Mark's Church on 2nd and 10th, which is also near Angel's Share on Stuyvesant Street, a place where I once saw him get sloppy drunk and had to apologize to the people setting next to us, on behalf of my stumbling companion. I'd passed 215 E. 10th without even noticing.

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