Tonight in New York, ten thousand three hundred and forty-six people cried while pretending not to. Eight hundred of them were hugged, and two hundred and nine found comfort before sleep.
Two thousand and three people kissed for the first time, their lips touching as their hands fumbled. Four hundred and eight of them went on to fuck, and only twelve regretted their decisions.
Tonight in New York, eight thousand cab drivers struggled to find a safe place to pee, and thirty-two of them watched couples fuck in the rearview mirror. Seven of them enjoyed it. Nearly all of them said a prayer, and seventy-five got tickets for running red lights.
Sixty-two thousand Ukrainians tried to reach family members back home.
By four in the morning, two hundred and forty-three bartenders got phone numbers they’d never text, but close to sixty of them fucked on the bar after closing time. New Yorkers drank twenty-three thousand pints of beer, eight thousand shots (half of them tequila), and seven hundred and twelve people threw up.
Eleven families lost someone to Covid.
Tonight in New York, a million people jerked off, and six thousand four hundred and nine gave blowjobs. Two hundred and forty-two for the first time. Dozens of people were tied up, and twelve used their safewords. By midnight, a hundred and seven people had their sexual debuts. Most of them wanted to.
New Yorkers slept and drank and cried and fucked, all to the sounds of honking cars, noisy neighbors, and their heartbeats struggling to remind them they’re human and alive.
Eight million prayed for peace.