Went out last night to a comedy club, Emma had some free passes. Five comedians or something, none too funny. One had an odd, hesitant persona, like a small child. "A lot of guys like big breasts. I like little breasts. They're so nice,” he said. “They're like, ‘Hi! Can I help you?'"

The Kiwis were there, Jen and Steve, and Chloe too. Then we went to Von on Bleecker and met up with Jim and Shane and Sophie and someone named Nicole who looked familiar and seemed to recognize me, so I pretended I knew who she was and said "Good to see you" not "Nice to meet you." Emma was leaning on me, arm around me. She and Chloe left early, and the rest of us wandered a while until we got to the Edge. There were lots of beautiful young women with their backs turned to us. Jim talked about how he's been seeing Lucy at school and they've been meeting up for drinks. Where might that be going? We talked about her mania. Sophie said she can never get a word in when she’s with her.

I played great pool. I've been playing great the last three times. Since Mel broke up with me. Maybe that’s what did it. Heartbreak’s prodded me to greater heights. The 2 was about five inches from the side bumper near the far corner but my shot to that hole was blocked; I hit the ball on the right, banked it, the cue ball and the 2 narrowly missed each other on their ricochets and the 2 rolled right in the near corner pocket. 

Eventually Jim and I lost and it was time to go home. I walked up 1st Avenue to Stromboli on 8th Street for a slice, past shuttered shops, past revelers whose nights were still young, past bags and bags of garbage, past a beautiful wide-eyed blonde clutching a book of Tartans in her green-gloved hands.