When I lived in Manhattan, I worked on Wall Street in a small firm called American Bond Group. It was a shady affair, as I later learned most broker groups could be. But, like any murky waters, there were some good fish to be found.
One of the most profound lessons I learned while working at that fine establishment was to never mess with Brooklyn girls. They would literally rip your face off for several things, not the least of which was casting an eye in their boyfriend's general direction, or doing anything untowards, disrespectful or uncaring of one of their friends. My office was once tore to pieces, plants in the wall (literally hanging out of the wall) and chairs broken, just because they chased a gal into it and pummeled her before I got to work. I never had any trouble with them, thank God, and even became pretty good friends with a beautiful girl named Patrice, who could knock out every tooth in your head and never crack a nail.
The point of my story is this...today, of all days, I wish I still had my Brooklyn friend. Because she would back my friend, who's been nothing but self-involved for a month now when I needed him to be just a little generous to me, and she would get the truth out of him about what he said or didn't say.
I don't tell my stories, the ones that have ripped and torn at my life. But, it took so very much to get me here and I just needed his help this one situation after months of help on all of his. If Patrice were here, she would pound into him what it took for me to ask for his help and she would find out exactly what happened along the way. And then, she'd probably rip his face off.
I love him. But right now, at this very aching moment, I think I might enjoy seeing that activity.