Across The East River

Across the East River from glamorous Manhattan, lies the borough’s hip and stylish counterpart, Brooklyn. Within Carroll Gardens, one of Brooklyn’s most charming neighborhoods lived a lawyer. He was gay, single, late thirties, and lived in a most charming Brownstone. One icy Sunday night, he logged into okcupid and connected with a creative type across the East River.

In the upper, upper Upper West Side of Manhattan (Harlem), lived a thirty-something, gay, singleton (yours truly). He resided in a modest walk-up.

In a shocking state of events, he had also logged into okcupid on that icy Sunday night. Through messages about a common love of Japan, high neurosis level and coffee, Brooklyn decided to embark on a journey to meet Manhattan.

While waiting in the midst of the East Village’s St. Patrick’s Day mayhem, Manhattan locked eyes with Brooklyn. “Wow, he’s has that cute, intellectual, nerdy, yet easy-going vibe about him, thought Manhattan to himself.

After enjoying wine, and an authentic Thai dinner, Brooklyn needed to head to a jazz concert in Midtown. However, Manhattan couldn’t resist Brooklyn’s charms and insisted on going to a passé gay bar in Chelsea instead. Brooklyn caved in.

In a classic gay bar with videos of drag queens, a dancing Donald Duck, and David Bowie playing in the background, Brooklyn interlocked with Manhattan through a kiss.

A week later, Manhattan made the trek to Carroll Gardens. It was an easy ride, since he had been visiting old friends in (semi) nearby, Greenpoint.

At the corner of Union & Smith, the irresistible eye contact persisted. Margaritas were drunk, childhood stories exchanged and a kiss over guacamole, commenced.

While strolling along Carroll Garden’s immaculate brownstone blocks, Manhattan had to return home. With one faithful swipe at the Carroll Street station, Manhattan waived “so long to Brooklyn” at the other end of the turnstile.

Like something out of Nora Eprhon flick (When Harry Met Sally), Brooklyn swiped his unlimited metro card, dashed to Manhattan and gave him another very long, passionate kiss.

The G train arrived. With the wind from the train blowing across the station, Manhattan could barely walk from the highs of romance. He managed to step into the allusive subway train, which doesn’t actually go into the city.

After transferring to the A, then to an Uptown 3, Manhattan came to an inevitable realization. “Shit, Brooklyn is far from Harlem,” said our lovebird, who had just been struck by (ok) cupid’s arrow. Regardless, of distance, the romantic prospects were simply thrilling.

As time flew in a New York minute, Brooklyn and Manhattan texted each other. There were novel worthy texts, naturally. However, the distance factor persisted.

Brooklyn stepped foot in the city for work, only. While, Manhattan adored Brooklyn and his very lovely Carroll Gardens flat, but it was a long trek. Strangely, our gay superheroes were in a long distance relationship within New York City.

Winter faded to spring, though the romance blossomed slowly. Then the text messages grew tiresome, Manhattan just wanted to go to brunch with his friends and partake in bottomless mimosas. He did just that. In great spontaneity, Brooklyn crossed the mighty East River and met Manhattan for a sandwich.

On fourteenth and Seventh Ave, two familiar lips locked once again. This time, Manhattan headed uptown without an encore, kissing performance on the subway platform.

Once, he arrived at his modest walk-up apartment, he had some Pringles and called it a night. Who needs romance when potato chips await? Said Manhattan.

Brooklyn and Manhattan continued to live a world away from each other. However, with the magic of bridges, the two could find each other again, with a side of guacamole, of course.

 

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