Happy New Year. Really.

Riding the subway all the way out to JFK, giant pack on my lap, weary faces surrounding me, I had a moment where I lost the idea that this was awesome. The only friend that hadn't vacated the city for the holidays was waiting for me in a hotel room.... over there somewhere. I don't know. I thought I'd just, you know, figure it out.

That wasn't the case. Perhaps I should stop flying by the seat of my pants so much. Or maybe I should care less about where I end up. Because, two hours later, pack stowed in a storefront in Manhattan (after giving up the trek and heading back into the city), my pal Jess and I are riding in a horse-drawn carriage down Fifth Avenue. Everything is fine, just like it should be. We sat in the park and caught up on our ups and downs. We've never been super close, but we were friendly. Now, we are convenient for each other and in good spirits. It is good to have a friend in NYC. Then we just gave the Trump Tower the bird and caught the carriage. 

Our driver is telling us all about the world. He speaks eloquently, in a thick Brooklyn accent, about economics and philosophy. He quotes John Locke and muses immigration (from someone who lives in the melting-pot) and tells stories about the Duchess of York riding in his cab. 

I take Jess by the Rockeffer tree before it gets turned off. She treats me to potato skins at TGI-Fridays. They let us use the bathroom, which is a big deal. Later, we will almost lose one of our new German friends because he has to pee so bad that he is running down the street, 12:10am, away from the ball, in search of a street corner that a fleet of horse-mounted police almost bust him peeing on. 

The ball drop is free and open to the public if you are willing to stand for seven hours with no bathroom or water. If you have a room key. If you have a pass. Other than that, you can watch from 38th and Broadway, like we did, and you can still have a marvelous time. 

Surrounded by people. Love in the air. We scream at every minute in the last ten of the year. People pass around bottles and joints, because the NYPD has bigger things to worry about. I don't partake because I need all the senses I can get. I need to stay connected. I teeter on the edge of mental and social isolation, but here it is easy to hug people. To wish people well. Ethan, the German that was less worried about peeing, talks to everyone and curses the New York sanitation truck that blocks his view. I suggest we flip it over, he declines. Later, he wants to walk to the worst neighborhood in NY and declare that he is alive and that he is not restricted in his movement. I tell him I think it's a great idea. I want to be his biographer. 

Jess and I met these Germans in a bar that we ducked into to get a soda and use the restroom, a big deal. Ethan says, "What are you doing?" I think that he might be talking about the fact that we have walked into a classy bar populated mostly by eastern Europeans. But he very quickly begins to tell me how wonderful he thinks the American attitude is. "You guys are so open and free," he says with a smile, "you want to talk about love and the world. Who cares if your government is a piece of shit!" *For more of this conversation, read here.*

Ethan and Marvin (his friend) are my favorite. Jess and I just laugh at them as they, and we, make new friend after new friend. I talk to a guy from Tennessee who tells me he drinks whiskey like water. "I hope your 2017 is as drunk as my 2016," he tells me. I know what he means. "I hope your 2017 is as happy as my 2016," I return.

We are both saying the same thing.

At midnight, the city explodes. There is trash everywhere, raining from the sky with the confetti. There are people dancing and singing and banging trash cans. There are people blasting trombones. Jess' fur coat starts conversations and she wanders freely, unobstructed by traffic lights or crowds. The Germans duck into a liquor store that I note has grammatical errors on its sign. 'More then 200 spirits.'

We walk to the Hudson. Evan insists that everything Marvin says in German is some disgusting reference to balls or assholes or sex. Marvin is unphased. He says, "I just met this guy. I don't know him. He is not my friend."

This is not true. Their matching bowties give them away. They are friends. We leave them at a thumping nightclub where they are off to lighten their sizeable wallets on drink and fun and women.

We end up in a hotel room with no blanket on the bed and sleep until the cutoff time for free breakfast is looming.