I think I might not actually be an introvert in the classic sense. I have the traits; starting a conversation is impossible, I think that no one is really interested in what I have to say, and being in busy public places is excruciating.

If someone else gets conversation going I am right at home. I can roll with what's being said. And I might not shut the fuck up. And that's roughly how I spent 2 hours over lunch discussing Brexit, Trump, and New York with a group of people in one of my preferred Manhattan bars. Before long the owner made an appearance and explained all the rare spirits, how he goes to the airport to buy bottles not otherwise available, how his particularly rare bourbons are priced to discourage anyone from buying them, and how he arrived on a student visa 40 years ago and never left.

They all had advice on how I could manage a move to the city, but the only plan even close to realistic was to meet a citizen and get married. So fat chance.

I showed them a photo I took in the same place 16 years before; one of the only 'proper' photos I have on my phone for some reason. Nothing has changed, expect the table cloths.

A black and white photo of two men at a table in an old bar. The photo was taken with a long exposure, so their heads are blurred and their faces appear blank
New York, 2007. Holga 120TLR, Ilford Delta 400

This photo signals the falling of another rule. Maybe I should just embrace the rebellion.