Nightime. Wrong dishwashing liquid. Empty bed. Use Quicktime. A night "out" (ha ha ha, I kill me, really) with Mike, Brian, Dan and more, at Bowery Bar, I mean "B Bar." Cell phones, cash, booze--and legions of men. After a fabulous reunion with Thomas Burns at a chic "Nolita" restaurant (strawberry-cucumber caiprinha, abalone mushroom cerviche, monkfish cheeks, goat curd brulee, and muscovado pavlova, mmm!!), I moseyed home to Bushwick on the J train. The stop was eerie, deserted save for me and the creaking escalator. Transfered to the shuttle bus over the bridge... was the star of my own private film, complete with a prince charming at the end. (With gold teeth and a baby girl though, so I told him maybe another day.)