One Sunday evening, I was jammed into the close-quarters of a lounge with fifteen other ladies. They were all beautiful and uniquely intriguing. A tall, thin, fiery redhead and veteran model hovered on the same vibrational wavelength as me, sharing positive energy and laughing loudly from her belly. Selflessly sharing her french fries and sliders, an extrovert pharmacy tech's bubbly personality overtook the room with ease, drawing everyone in, as well as saving me from starvation. I particularly gravitated towards a textured and short-coiffed, black-haired real estate agent with a mega-watt smile and kindred, kind soul. Our styles and poise were similar and we unknowingly gave people the same compliments and ended up the last two in the room together, walking each other to the 59th Street subway station together so weren't alone late at night.
The owner of the Halsey Bodega, five steps from my current abode, chooses to call me "pretty lady," but knows my name, my Haribo gummy bear addiction, and even gifted me Chamomile tea when I had a cold. The lady at Maddy's Pizza puts a $1 slice of cheese in the oven whenever she sees me enter and stopped asking if I needed a bag long ago. I usually finish the slice before I make it across the street to the next block. The super of my favorite coffee shop and bakery (unfortunately with limited hours) is another individual I'm delighted to call friend. He is happy, friendly, and a staple of Ralph Ave in Bed Stuy as a longtime artist, his masterpieces adorning the walls of Kava Shteeble. The countergirl, who just moved to Philly today, was one of my favorites. Our friendship was cut short, but we exchanged numbers and vowed to link up upon her return visits.
My newest friend is a tall skinny barista aptly named Levi, imported from Portland. We met last night as I sat at the bar scouting out a new cafe, one open late on the weekends with free wi-fi and adequate electrical outlets. He got me on the non-lean diet of cinnamon-sugar bagels covered in peanut butter and adorned with chunks of soft bananas and thinly sliced green apples, (hopefully) balanced out by warm Honeybush Tea. I was only charged $7 for three items, and I'm sure he had something to do with it. Three of nothing in a Brooklyn coffee shop costs $7. Special treatment aside, the music is great, the lights are dim, and I've made two more friends in the past sixty minutes as I sat here again tonight, typing this and spilling honey on my keyboard.
Spilling honey. I guess that's how I make so many friends.