At the end of the day, the meet cute doesn’t count for much. I mean, make no mistake; it’s a cute story. I thank my lucky stars that Abbi happened onto my Friendster profile, found my website, came to my rock show, and tapped me on the shoulder — to...
When I woke, my wife, mother, and doctor stood over me like a Holy Trinity. I tried to speak, but could only gesture to Abbi for a kiss. I didn’t remember anything prior, or have any idea where I was. Through the fog, I heard Dr. Dawson report that the surgery...
The Lenox Hill’s ER was manned by a slight, Russian-speaking security guard. “Name, age, and ailment,” he said handing me a pink slip of paper. Benjamin Wagner. 37. I paused at “ailment,” puzzling over how detailed I should be. I wrote,...
In some strange way, I felt relieved as I strode towards Lenox Hill Hospital’s Emergency Room with my plastic bag full of still-wet CAT scans; at least I knew what was wrong, and what had to be done. It was a strange day from the start. I’d slept scarcely...
“New York is all about what could be,” says David Cloyd, a 34-year-old musician who moved to the city from Austin ten years ago. “You know: The potential. The possibilities.” New York Magazine is the source of Mr. Cloyd’s quote, at least...
