the morning after

I wish I had photos of our dimly-lit 6 course dinner,  in particular the beet and hazelnut dish.
I wish I had a video of the kid playing drums on plastic containers in the subway and all the random people dancing to his beats.
I wish I had a picture of the touchy-feely doorman at the first bar we went to who broke up a bar fight and was totally in love with Janet.
I wish I had a photo of the front of the bar across the street that we called “Hogs n Hefers” even though it was named something else,  the bar we almost went in out of desperation to get out of the cold.
I wish I had pictures of my friend’s wife huddling in the corner,  of us running through the streets,  of the doorman (a different one) who told us we had to leave, of the two guys at the bar who we tried to get Janet to talk to all night ( mostly out of curiosity)
I wish I had photos of our table(s) — littered with every kind of glass and bottle imaginable — and also a plate of fruit.
I wish I had a photo of our cabbie with the softest, most mechanical other worldy alien voice ever and me in the back seat yelling at the tv screen trying to answer jeopardy questions and only getting the one about Metallica correct.

I wish I had a picture of all of us, strangers and friends that we haven’t seen for ages before the night begun, and then BFFs by the time the night was over at 4:30am, giving each other long hugs and making all kinds of promises to see each other soon.

Another night of memories, the kind that only seem to happen in a city like New York,  the kind that you are too busy living instead of photographing.  The kind of night whose pictures will live on forever,  if only in your own mind.