Last night, I fell into a bottle that just wouldn’t empty. At every social setting, I’m finding more reasons to drink and be isolated in New York.

My friend and summer roommate, Kyle, and I are very different people. Understand that we all create a fantastical image of the people we meet. In time, such impressions gradually give way to reality. Our world view coalesces around our mindset and prior experience. Kyle’s foremost impression of new acquaintances is one which originates through his almost naïve optimism, whereas mine tends to come from what some have perceived as my unfair suspicion and cynicism.

A few days ago, Kyle brought some company by the apartment. One of the girls with his party, Adriana, was less talkative than the others. I deduced her detachment stemmed from disinterest in the night’s casual conversation. I couldn’t help but feel she thought herself better than everybody else; of course, I privately fawned over her for this and considered the possibilities. I now blame this ignorant inference on a collection of idle conversations with Kyle throughout his time living with me about his various relationships and love interests and my subsequent exposure to his brand of romantic desperation.

I asked a mutual friend, Katie, to arrange for a night out and once again set the machinery in motion to build what would become my latest disappointment.

(I started feeling this sense of impending danger after I’d realized they’d planned on where we’d meet up without me — a busy, trendy restaurant packed with college students from the nearby NYU campus. I have a problem with not being able to control my surroundings, as though I’m being set up for an ambush. I also have a problem with busy, trendy restaurants and the college students who go to them.)