In the corner of the Monkey Bar, we sat and ordered cocktails.
An old evening in old New York.
The room was practically empty.
The two other tables would be gone before we finished.
‘What’s become of the world?’
All around us, the monkeys smiled and played, but not a single one uttered a word.
They’d seen it all before.
The blush of youth.
The dance to adulthood.
The walk home.
The wee small hours of the morning.
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