I have forgotten to take my camera with me to every evening out since I got back to New York (figures), so I have no visual proof of what happened on Friday night in the East Village. However, since our journey included expensive cocktails, guest lists and a speakeasy that required you to knock on a fake wall in the phone booth of a hot dog shop, I have to imagine it went a little something like this:
2 photos, nothing incriminating. blast!
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