The glass I am holding sweats, possibly from condensation, but tonight it is in fear, feeling the tension in my hand as I lift the golden ale to my mouth. I look desperately at the bartender, using my eyes to inform her I am in dire need of a distraction. This fails miserably. I can’t believe this is happening again, I think to myself. I find that I am the center of attention in a circle of comrades at a bar on the Upper East, answering a question that I seem to answer on a daily basis, justifyi…
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Posted on August 19, 2009 at 9:12am — 1 Comment