I'm sitting in the Miracle Bar on Bleecker Street in the West Village, opposite the Biography Bookshop, drinking the last of my Caipirinha. I usually drink beer when reading, or writing; or else wine, when in France, say, or Spain. But I've already had a couple of Brooklyn Lagers with dinner (a burger with pepper jack cheese), at the Groove Bar on MacDougal, where I avoided the live R&B (though with a little regret; I liked the ambience but couldn't see to write when they turned the light down. Also, they switched the baseball to the NBA playoffs...) A caipirinha, then: a sharp and sweet bossa nova mixture of Brazilian rum and lime. It seems that Sex and the City has finally got to me.
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