New York City, baby.

Sunday, February 01, 2004


Sway (Spring St.)

Standing at the crossroads in 2003 was the Arabian-themed meat market Sway.

The standard etiquettes of the Velvet Rope were being upheld within, reminding us what we didn't miss about our old Club-Limping days. But also what we WOULD miss if we were to never order an $8 vodka tonic again.

At twenty-nine, one had to ask themselves: is it time to rocket up or tone it down? Which one was the path to happiness?

Those young-rich-and-fast Hollywood types sure looked like they were having fun. But hanging out with the hip loungers at 2AM with the music thumping and the girls dancing and the guys hunting -- it triggered the feeling of an X trip that was about to take off but never did propel us down the exit shoot.

Why go to Sway instead of any of the other trendy downtown clubs? My friend’s attractive blonde ex-girlfriend could get us in (how late twenties) and that meant we didn’t have to embarrass ourselves by using a door scam (see: early-twenties).

One night, we thought we saw our former self, sitting in the corner on a velvet couch sipping on a bottle of Corona, comparing reality to our expectations. We had to laugh.

For all those young pups in their early twenties dripping attitude around us, they had yet to see their worlds collapse. And there was nothing we could have or would have wanted to tell them.

Meanwhile, the dust was finally settling on our own lives. For now.

Thom 61 (Thompson St.) a close second.


Post a Comment

<< Home