Dispatches from the kitchen at a party where someone’s smoking a cig out the window and you’re fanning yourself with a Mary McCarthy paperback which is ridiculous but it’s all you have

and the lights are too bright, and the wine is good but warm, and there isn’t enough of it, there isn’t enough of anything, and then someone presses a cold beer to the back of your neck.

I’m a writer in New York and a woman in my twenties. This is my blog.