I was at Frankie’s Pizza, one cold night in June.

When the weather is cold, I don’t want to go home.

I stay out, and I walk down the streets of the city, looking for bright lights and good times.

Last night, I sat at the bar at Frankie’s. It’s a place that feels like home to me. I sit there regularly, and they know the right drink to pour, and they talk and tell stories, and I listen.

A band plays. The suits and ties come and go. The regulars get tanked and get twisted. The pinball machines blare and flash. It’s a routine that I have grown accustomed to, that only makes sense to experience on my own.

xox Joany 🍕