I looked out of the window of the penthouse party and saw Times Square. The bar was free. The waitresses were wearing little black dresses and the music rocked. I spent a more than few moments wondering how I got to be here before I went with the flow.
And the lightning flashed.
The party moved downstairs before the hail came. Two hundred people crammed into a space made for fifty, and the volume got louder. The DJ switched to vinyl and the business conversations started in earnest. The greatest American lie is "let's do lunch." I talk too much.
And the thunder rolled.
Much later, the last of the crowd gather around the bar with the ever-present TV showing baseball. In our search for a quiet space, Bradford and I discovered a whole room which nobody else had found, with an untouched buffet! Never one to be formal, I grabbed a large plate and dragged it over to where we stood, revisiting our earlier disbelief. I'm coding - I don't know why - I just had an idea.
I should take the idea home with me.
I think the hotdog vendors never close here. The over-eager taxi cabs are moving before the light has changed. I suddenly need some ear-bleeding EBM really badly.
This didn't happen. Not even in a movie.
Except it did.