my faith in love is still devout

I've been sick for what feels like the last month, maybe year--but what more accurately can be estimated as slightly under a week. I'm on my final leg of it though, when my body has me on this sort of trial-run. If I pass, I'll be better tomorrow. If I do something nuts like run off to NYC and traipse around Brooklyn at 12AM I may fall off the health wagon.

I did go to Brooklyn this past Saturday. To see a Smiths tribute band (but of course) play a Valentine's Day show. I'd seen the same band over the summer in Philly, and been mesmerized by their impeccable attention to detail. They're all very talented, and ugh handsome.

The hardest part of driving to Brooklyn is parking in Brooklyn, particularly when half the parking spots were entrenched in frozen gray snow. But Jen managed to find a spot. And we walked, in quick huddled paces to a trendy, well-lit Chinese restaurant called, yes, Mr. Wonton. Had I had an appetite I would have eaten the entire plate of General Tso's tofu. Regardless, the tea burned so good, and we had just enough time afterwards to be first in line at the club.

The club was a bar with a room for shows in the basement. Another girl came down and stood behind us, I tried to make friends with her, but she was probably intimated by how good looking I was at the time. She did talk more after the show, but nothing of note. Eventually we made it in the doors and pressed up against the right side of the side where we knew "Johnny" would be. The band threw carnations to the crowd, and I whipped mine at "Morrissey" until the petals were missing. At some glorious moment, "Morrissey" held my hand. Afterwards Jen and and I unsuccessfully tried to find coffee in the city, only succeeding in finding a bakery that was still serving decaf.

So there ends the account of the Sons and Heirs tribute concert. I've spent interim days suckling down green tea and crafting a scheme with enough momentum to get me a brownstone in Brooklyn.