There are just some afternoons that seem to come together almost effortlessly. You exit a metro onto a beautiful park and you follow the pretty people that are heading towards the sounds of techno beats amongst the rustling trees and giggling kids playing in manmade waterfalls. You buy yourself a vodka tonic and wait for your friend Kendra to show up on her bike. And when she does you get more drinks and lay out by the water's edge and flip through the new issue of Nylon Guys and pick out which overpriced polo tee you like the most (um Marc Jacobs: $1, 430 for a fucking pink polo?!) You dance. You laugh. You marvel at all the pretty boys and girls and families and kids and crack-heads and hippy ravers there are. You watch a looming grey cloud overhead and think it might rain but it doesn't. You imagine the cloud as a disguise for a giant UFO trying to hover across the party people below, undetected. It's a thought that makes you laugh a little. The people around you are drinking, eating crackers, dancing, rolling joints. You watch the sunset. You're picking the right moment to leave and almost instantly the DJ plays the most amzing, warped version of Madonna's "Express Yourself". You dance like a madman and mouth all the words. And then you leave, feeling ten years younger. And you wonder why everyday can't be this breezy...
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