New

I had a couple of drinks at an Irish pub tonight, and I saw a guy about my age sitting at the bar, pint of beer in hand. A see-though blue plastic sack was draped over the back of his chair. I tried to make out what the cylindrical object inside it was. Coffee. A tin of it. Maxwell House, I recall. There was something supremely sad about that to me. I didn't know this man. I'd only seen him once. But already I knew how his night would end and how his morning would begin.

I don't want to be that way now that I'm single.

I stepped off the train near home tonight, and I felt a surge of satisfaction with my lot in life (okay, maybe that was the Harp draughts talking, but bear with me here). I wanted to French-kiss the people who exited my subway car. I wanted to tell the blond woman on the bench near me how much I liked her bag. I wanted to dance through Koreatown, drinking up the lights, so happy to be a red blood cell in the city's artery.

I am lucky. No matter what happens to me, I am going to try hard to remember that.

P.S. Listen to my show tonight, Dr. Blogstein's Radio Happy Hour, at 9 p.m. tonight. The player is in the margin of my blog, but click here to listen in real time.