Avenue A Laundromat

Last night I went to my first ever Dirty Laundry Loads of Prose reading at the Avenue A Laundromat.

The lovely lady responsible for the series, Emily Rubin, was warm and welcoming. Being in the midst of young NYT city writers filled me with a glow reminiscent of the literati followers of yesteryear. I was overcome by an Anais Nin vibe and eager to bask in the glow of communal creativity.

One of the writers, Caroline Dworin recently graduated from the Columbia School of Journalism with a high school chum of mine. She read a rollicking bit about the proximity of life in New York creates a specific brand of privacy that is only breached by tourists and out-of-town guests. That we figure out a code of silence in the midst of all the noise as all transplants must to survive and humanize city life.

Another writer, Saki Knafo, of Israeli origin born and bred in Brooklyn wove a fundamentally Sweet loving tale of a Monday Night Basketball League on the UWS that has been going on for 33 years. Of course, this made me think of Tea and how someday if we were really lucky some cheeky 20something might decide to cover our story at Saint's Alp Teahouse. But more honestly, I thought him cute. Yes, readers. I fell for the writer's lanky build and awkward stance. His curly mop and forward stoop. Why must tall men try to compact themselves? He's 6'6" and not proud. As if looks alone weren't enough he had the gentle grace of a nascent dancer--slightly clumsy and uncertain of the steps but keen to perfect them. His self-deprecating humor and easy smile made me long for a simpler time. A time when I was more confident and he more available.

This is all moot, as his diminutive, beautiful Mocha girlfriend was standing beside a washer cheering him on in smiles. No contest, she's got me beat in cuteness/hotness/loveliness. And despite my sadness for another my type with the anti-me, I felt a fleeting moment of happiness for her--for them. I wanted it to work out. I wanted more than anything for their happiness to last.