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1999-03-17 - 02:42:00 St. Patrick's Day, NYC"Dan!" I turn around to see who called my name. "Christine and Mary!" And we hugged, like long-lost friends of high school years 10 years ago, and no longer just a professional relationship. "Help us," they said, drunk in that small 23rd Street pub amid all the drunken St. Patrick's Day revellers. "We need to get home." And immediately I was sober, clearing my head now, save for the mission of getting them home to their mother, waiting in the moody darkness of suburban New Jersey riverside night. 1 a.m. New York City on a Wednesday night and it's still alive -- people on the streets, people in the bars, people waiting for the train -- Penn Station is still bustling now with bleary-eyed, tired, drunken (including myself) young revellers on this crazy night. The train board 1:35 -- 1:40 -- 1:46 -- then -- 4:44 -- 5:25 -- 5:52 -- 6:00 -- 6:03. Late night New York never sleeps. Penn Station 1 a.m. -- someplace I never could've imagined I'd be after another wonderful New York party night -- Elise and her friends -- 212-244-5704 for Amy, written on my hand -- I've come to know in some way after two nights. And Elise, herself a girl I knew in high school now a woman I know in New York -- and all the new info I've now since learned about other pairs of our group -- a soap opera. I never would've imagined. But Elise and I have grown closer in a few weeks, a few drunken party nights in dirty, mysterious, dark New York. Tonight how she made me talk -- of our friends, descriptions and ranking, a depth chart of their looks and personalities. And all this with her -- whom I had to include. But now I sit, waiting for southbound North Jersey Coast Line train to leave the station and I remember them, those beautiful, gorgeous, elegant, exotic, sexy women of the New York night. I want to know and love in nights to come. "No vomitting on the train, please. No vomitting." He actually did just say that tonight -- this morning, as we St. Patrick's Day partiers head home to suburbia.
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