Sometimes I think to myself, wow, I am a lucky girl.
To be a young student in Manhattan: to have had snippets of summer, to have been to secret speakeasies and after-hours parties at the MOMA, to have taken the cab and the subway in the wee hours of the morning, to sip cocktails under a different age.
We do not have much in the way of savings but there is nothing richer than the culture of the metropolis, nothing more luxurious than the gold of youth.
Yet, we could be old and still chic. There is nothing preventing us from being so in this great city but our own monotony. We could be grand, we could have dinner parties. We could own even more black dresses and cynicism than we do now. We could never have everything; we could hardly have the rent. But we could have our pride.
These are the stuff of sweet memories, one day we shall recite to our children. Perhaps our first love will sway, but for now, we have never before been so alive.