The only way to appreciate something in the moment is to imagine it from the standpoint of the distant future, to step forward into the sense that it’s all gone, even while it’s happening.
Last night, after the reading on Hudson St, while people talked and smoked and drank, I felt happy, and everyone else seemed happy too. I think some older people walked in off the street and mingled with the literary kids. I took my shoes off and danced for the first in a long time—without abandon. There was a lot of flirting, without much strategy or calculation or anxiety, which I appreciated it. It felt innocent, in other words. Now, nothing is actually innocent, but I appreciated the illusion for a few hours.
Afterwards, a few of us went to Clando for a nightcap, and it wasn’t very crowded, and I talked to a friend who was having a rough time in his relationship. We talked about loneliness, and I think the conversation next to us was also about loneliness, too, coincidentally. I didn’t pay for any drinks.