There was a time you know when we’d eat lunch at Bryant Park. We’d sit by the merry-go-round and behold Manhattan’s midtown splendor for half an hour. Models and artsy types and sleek Euro girls with sunshine bouncing off their sleek Euro hair. 24 year old marketing or publishing or PR assistants, making 40 grand and living in Murray Hill, all big eyes and toothy smiles, chatting away happily. Everyone checking out everyone. Everything a coy precursor to eventually becoming naked. No one saying shit about fish tacos.

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— Not that I endorse this blog or that it even resonates with me or anything.