It seems so sophomoric now. It was as if I would go do something just to write about it. It wasn't enough to experience life; I was accumulating material, as if I had nothing to say until I did something - a notion which, come to think of it, was probably accurate.
So, last night I had a nice date. we met in the Lower East Side. We had a dinner date. We talked - as seems to happen increasingly often with my dating - about religion and politics.
It was a reflection of old habits, trawling the LES, drinking and eating and kissing under halogen lights. I keep thinking I'm too old for this, or perhaps the thrill is gone, but in all it was a good date, and I hope we have another.
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