and the city? man. do i even need to tell you? it’s dripping in money, beauty, opportunity, everywhere. no wonder people get addicted to it. it feels like people are making deals on street corners and absolutely everything just might be possible. and i’m jumping cabs, midtown to the east village, dinner on 26th, some bar on 44th and 9th with my playwright friend, his cast drinking martini’s and eating hot dogs, jersey girls about to start dancing on the bar. we wind up at johnny’s at midnight and when i walked in, vonya smiled and leaned across the bar and gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek and, i swear to god, i hear this other woman at the bar say to her boyfriend, “do you know who that is?” and then someone bought the bar pinkberry shots and a cheer goes out and someone else put counting crows on the juke box and all of a sudden, it’s 3am. i get home, 24 hours awake, and pass out only to wake up the next day at 7 and beat it out the door. 60th and madison, the 20th floor and some private equity conference room, frosted glass and the secretary brings us coffee and bottled water’s already on the table. a handshake and back downtown, lunch, contracts signed; edits initialed. in the corner, a bunch of new media guys drinking ice tea and talking about the ipad and this guy in a checkered shirt’s talking about iranian payment proxy systems and the bartender is making bloody marry’s and some chick in a short skirt is trying to look at the contract sliding down the bar and i’m like: yes. yes, this is, actually, fucking awesome thank you very much. and then i jumped a cab to penn station and then the acela southward with six heineken’s, a little jay z and of course some avril, lawyers and briefcases, a hundred eighty miles an hour and outside the window, wilmington’s rushing by. and in my head? the million dollar possibility and why not? why not.