![]() Only she lived with another woman-Lucy was wearing a ring when we met. But I walked home, swooning in the summer night. ![]() I could have stayed on the couch and Lucy and I could have found a way to kiss, at least. I could have said I didn’t want to go back to my hot, dark apartment. It would have been easy to sleep over that first night. As I walked there, on the cobblestone streets just north of Washington Square Park, past an intersection where a woman in a sundress was directing traffic, down into the lighting district-window after window teeming with powerless, shimmering chandeliers, the people in the apartments above drinking beer on the fire escapes-the city seemed less like a nightmare and more like a carnival. I was nearing panic when a friend called and told me he had the water back on in his building down by City Hall, and a grill out on the balcony. ![]() I felt defenseless every time I walked up the ten flights to my apartment carrying a lit candle in the ghostly stairwell. The ATMs didn’t work and bodegas were charging insane amounts for bottled water and I was thirsty, hungover, and almost out of cash. Traffic lights dangled dead over the intersections taxis lurched through the dark. ![]() People were sweaty and edgy, thronging the streets, leaking heat and anxiety. It was searing hot and there wasn’t any running water and New York City had lost its mind. ![]()
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