We had a great dinner at Mexican Radio — a bit overpriced, but “that’s SoHo for you” — then an even better time at a party in a very lovely Midtown apartment. I didn’t have to worry about a hangover, but even at this age, I still always worry about all the stupid things I must have said. The next morning I usually try to rehash all conversations and wonder at which point did things turn awkward and was it my fault. Probably.
Then I got knocked down and dragged by a cab who refused us service to Astoria. So I worried about that instead.
Alive, but bruised.