It looks like a light saber to me.
J and I were at Starr Space on Starr Street this weekend. Map it? You can't. At least, Google can't, because we ended up getting off the Queensboro bridge around P.S. 1, on 28th Street, in the dead of night, and the print-out I had said, Make slight right toward 21st Street, and then, Turn left onto 21st Street. (Wait, does that even make sense in theory?)
J: This is 28th Street.
Me: We are seven streets off.
Me: These directions are WRONG.
We turned around and went the other way for a little while, until we realized that seven streets back from 28th Street is not, as you might conjecture, 21st Street, but the bridge. The bridge that we had just come off of? Yes, that bridge. Incidentally, the first time over, we had driven on the very edge of the bridge--like, maybe, where the cops drive when about to apprehend some goon or talk someone out of jumping--which was scary and strange, because every other car was on the inside, where there were actual lanes. We were right above the water, separate from God and traffic and everything. Very strange. And there was maybe one other car very ahead of us in this alterna-lane, which did not exactly inspire confidence, although it certainly was more reassuring than if NO other car were in our alterna-lane.
Anyway, we drove to the end of the bridge and then turned around AGAIN to head back toward Queens.
J: Do you like bridges?
Me: I don't have any particular feelings about bridges.
J: Good, because we are going to be on this bridge ALL NIGHT.
No, actually, we were on that bridge OR in gas stations all night, asking people for directions, which led us nowhere. Or else, back to the bridge.
Finally, I found a young-ish, fattish, dishevelled guy in line at a convenience store, and he had.... an iPhone! With a map. And he showed me the way with some rapid and emphatic arm gestures. I flagged J, who by now was somewhere off buying vitamin water.
Back in the car.
J: Do you want some water with vitamins in it?
When we finally found the place, it was hot and steamy inside, and in one corner, a very intent young man was stomping his feet and tossing his head and contorting this way and that with great fervor. People were dancing. It was 11 o'clock. A stranger behind a little wooden window handed me a plastic cup of white wine.