I loved the three months in London.
The four nights in Paris.
The eleven hours in Amsterdam.
The night we camped out on the beach in Malibu and woke up wondering which house on the cliff was Bob Dylan's.
I loved the time we went to Camden with the South African kids Jack met.
The time we took the train to Naples and drank the bad wine.
The time at the Joan of Arc show where we met Tim Kinsella and he asked if we had a place for him to crash.
The time
The time
The time
The time.
I loved the horrible apartments.
The month when Andy and I slept on the floor of my aunt's in mid-town and the doorman always asked for our IDs.
The night I had to climb up the fire escape in Greenpoint to escape the landlords' daughters' very muscular Russian ex-boyfriend.
The night we got bedbugs at the one on Hooper Street and stayed up until four in the morning caulking every crevass and crack.
I loved so many of the car rides.
The one where we drove back to New York after the concert and got back at four in the morning and there was still a party happening at James' apartment.
The one where Gio told me about his meditation retreat in Texas.
The one where Allen played me the Replacements for the first time and told me his Very Big Secret.
The one where we sang all of "We Are the Only Friends That We Have" in its entirety at the top of our lungs.
I loved when Mark gave us free ice cream.
When Mark emerged from the woods with his shirt torn looking for his phone.
When Mark
When Mark
When Mark.
When Mark.
I loved when we saw that license plate floating away in the East River and made up stories about where the driver was.
The Skype call when you said you weren't moving back to Boston and I fell asleep repeating the phrase "There is so much that I just don't understand" ad infinitum.
The text message when you said you owed me a piece of yarn.
I loved the way we told stories about what we really REALLY wanted.
I want to be a great sportscaster.
I want to be a great musician.
I want to be a great novelist.
Can I be all three?
I want.
I want.
I want.
I want.
I loved the time we stayed up all night after the Halloween party all the way up to when Pete's roommates came downstairs extremely angry that we'd kept them up when they had a bike ride at 5 a.m.
When the guy talked our ears off about Gogi Berry juice.
When the guy asked us if we were in a yacht rock band.
When the guy told us about his brother who had played in Steven Tyler's first band.
I loved whenever someone listed off their Dream All-Star Band and it inevitably ended in "Dave Matthews' Violinist"
Whenever someone started saying what you really had to do if you wanted to make it as an artist was...
Whenever someone said if you really wanted to make money you had to...
Whenever someone asked if I was a still a student or if those were really my mother's jeans.
I loved everything about Dodger Stadium:
The art deco facade,
The canyons beyond centerfield,
Vin Scully.
I loved that you loved the health-conscious ballpark food
And how we decided West Coast baseball suited us
And started making a new list of cities we could live in.
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