God, it feels like this is all happening now, rather than in my memory. Maybe it’s ’cause I’m in the same bar having the same can of beer I drank to bolster myself before returning, yet again, to that elusive party. I figured three dollars was a reasonable price to pay for the necessary confidence. Crap.
I wonder if this is the EXACT same can of beer. Did I leave some over? The phlegmy brew is giving me no confidence in the bar, just as it failed to make go back to that shindig for which I’d been girding. Fortunately, on election night, the hoppy mucous had been accompanied by a NY 1 guy on television, waiting at the Park Slope Armory for de Blasio’s party to kick into gear. That was probably the party to be at anyway. And it was close.
Two major citywide victories in one night, both for Brooklyn pols, with parties near to each other, right in my home borough. What better proof could you get of Brooklyn’s increasing preeminence in the municipal equation? I was proud. And also glad, ’cause it meant I could walk to the de Blasio soiree and not have to pop for a cab.