Somewhere between a weeklong nighttime haze and several bruises, I let myself just take it all as it comes. I met a young man who told me about some of his recent travels after which point I referred to him only as The Nomad: a young jewelry designer who train hops and catches rides across the country and into Mexico, without a place to call home but surprisingly owns a cell phone. He came to NYC with $200 and a bag full of tools a month ago. He bought me a beer. His light spirit was contagious and brought out the careless youth in me. We chatted, we took off our shoes and went for a midnight run, then laid on some ever-shedding astro turf and spoke in a french/spanish/armenian jumble. He leant me his leather vest to lie on, we took some photos; music was provided courtesy of my iPhone 3G. At 3 AM we called it quits and that was it.

We parted ways at the corner and I left knowing that it didn’t matter if we ever spoke again because life needs more innocent nights like these.    

5 July