Dear NYC Friends:

I love you all. You are supah-fly. So please forgive me for not telling you all that I was in the city this weekend.

Perhaps you sensed it when you woke up in the middle of the night in a cold-sweat, a lump in the middle of your throat, feeling that something was not quite right, that something perhaps EVIL was moving through the hot city night. Perhaps you couldn't fall back asleep for hours and found yourself pacing your tiny apartment laughing at yourself for your inexplicable silliness but nonetheless feeling a sense of horror that bored straight through your heart. Hopefully now it all makes sense.

I decided last month to surprise E with a trip to NYC since he's never been there before. I hadn't done anything randomversary-related since the wine-trip, and it seemed fitting and necessary with E moving away in less than 10 weeks that I arrange some sort of final blow-out before we are no longer able to arrange something like this with any sort of ease. I wanted it to be special—all about just E and me, since very soon I won't be seeing him except on rare occasion. And seeing as he's never been to the city before, I wanted to insure that he see everything his little heart desired before we departed, and with less than 48-hours to do so, I had to make some sacrifices. And the biggest sacrifice was not seeing any of you—I had contemplated ringing up one or two of you, but then I would've felt bad not having called the others. So I decided to cloak the trip in a shroud of secrecy and silence instead, hoping that I could just beg your forgiveness afterwards and appease you with promises to visit next time I am in town again (which hopefully won't be *too* long because man do I love me some NYC).

I hope you understand. I heart you all and thought of each of you as I bustled through the city all day, blackening my feet with a thin-slime of city-filth. And I do promise: next time. Next time.

Love,
Lindy Loo

PS. Dear Julian Casablancas: Where were you Saturday night at 12:30am? I was at Mars Bar waiting for you. I even had special permission to ditch E and go home with you, if only you had shown. Your loss.

PSS. Dear guy from Mutual Appreciation: Was that *you* on the subway Saturday afternoon, around 1-ish, staring at me staring at you above the sea of heads that separated us? If so, my apologies for all the furtive stares. I was just trying to pin down whether it really *was* you or not. Had you only smiled once, I might've known. But instead you just looked slightly puzzled as to why some girl with very large sunglasses kept staring at you so hard from across the train. If it was *not* you, then you surely have a remarkable look-alike, and you should probably tell him to stop making people think he is you and thus driving them mad with not knowing. Either which way, part of the reason I was staring was because I was trying to telepathically let you know that I really dug your movie. It made my heart feel smooshy. Now you know.

PSSS. Dear readers: You can check out my NYC pics for the next few weeks at my photoblog, HERE.

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