A relative celebrated her birthday in the city ( the city being NYC ) last night and the entire affair was one long Twilight Zone moment. Things happen in the city that just don’t anywhere else.

The story begins at the Sweet and Vicious bar, which is, well I don’t really know where it is. Somewhere near Spring Street. Don’t quote me on that. It had a small outdoor lounge with benches and a trace of greenery and they allowed smoking until 11 pm and the waitress kept bringing Corona long necks with lime wedges. I’m pretty sure I paid for them. In the corner of the outdoor lounge there was a painter’s ladder that led to nowhere.

Next thing I know it’s 2am we’re eating brick oven pizza and listening to a man roughly 109 years old playing a glass top piano. As he pumped the ivory keys, a black cat rolled around on top grooving to Frank Sinatra and an upright bass. There was a line of about 9 girls waiting to pat the all black kitty with yellow eyes. 9 girls and me.

Flash ahead to 3:30 AM. For some reason I’m arguing with someone about the value of public education on the PATH train.

Now it’s 6PM the next day, and my head just stopped feeling like a crushed pineapple smoothie.

I should’ve stopped at the 3rd Corona.