Sometimes it’s those serendipitous nights that turn out to be the most fun. You know, those nights where you set out with one thing in mind, but suddenly the whole plan takes a left turn, and you end up in an apartment above Religious Sex with a bunch of bottles of wine and some beer purchased at a bodega for three times the retail price.
Our host for the evening
And then our old bones go at it as if we’re nineteen again.
I believe that thing in the middle is what the sophisticates call a carafe.
There’s nothing like homemade edamame and candlelight to add atmosphere.
I thought maybe I’d just lie down for a bit.
Ugh, life from inside the bottle.
And a horrible artist’s rendition of Mr. Hipster and Mrs. Hipster towards the end…