When I was walking home last night I passed d.b.a. on First Avenue. Even on a Monday you can guarantee running into some drunkard stumbling out onto the sidewalk either looking to get laid, to fight or to throw up. It does have an amazing collection of beer, so I can understand the appeal even if it is a Monday.
As I got closer I noticed a guy leaning his forehead against the wall of the building next door. There was a woman rubbing his back and I thought for sure he was about to vomit, if he hadn’t already. But instead of upchucking all over the sidewalk, as New York City is obviously the best place for such a thing, he started crying loudly. He pulled away from her and started screaming “Why don’t you love me anymore?” Oh, the sentiments of the broken hearted!
It didn’t stop with that question but proceeded with a rundown of why he loved her and all the things he had done for her. Of course, she was trying to calm him down, but he was on a roll. I don’t know if they were exes trying to be friends — worst idea in the world unless half a decade has passed — or if she took him there to get him drunk and publicly shatter his world.
But what’s more awkward for both the involved parties and those just unfortunate to be walking by? The end of a relationship in front of hundreds of people (yes, easily a 100 people walked by this last night before it was all said and done, I’m sure) or a proposal; the type where someone stops everyone else’s life around them to make a big production of things?
You don’t get a third choice on this one.