Enjoying wine and conversation with friends is one of my favorite things in life; and there’s nothing better to warm you from the crisp fall air than sharing a bottle of red at Jadis amongst them.

Walking down the cobbled streets to meet some, I drew my black fur vest closer to me, the click clack of my stilettos accompanied by leaves swirling and crunching in the wind set the scene for the shadows of my former life to haunt me. Empty alleys and park benches surrounded me and every passerby made my heart jump. As I walked from the F train to Rivington I began to think about what I’d do if confronted with these spirits. A mere mist of the way things could have been trailed as tall men in suits floated past me. Afraid to look closer, but fearful as well of missing the chance to dance near my dreams once more, I only allowed my eyes to divert for moments. As it were, the lower east side seemed sprinkled with apparitions taunting me for miles worth of a choked throat and heart palpitations. I simply chose the wrong place for my wounded little heart and I’d need my friends more than ever to pull me out of the nightmare. But so they did, with talk of dance and art, and the lack thereof, and writing…all tinged with the perfect amount of intellectual gossip and pop culture. Laughter. A lot of laughter, mingled with my signature hand clap (which I do when I find something truly humorous or bold). And it was perfect…except for the ghosts walking in the nearby streets—the ones near Café Charbon and Whole Foods and those drifting inside September Wines and the Pink Pony, and wasting dollars on games in bars—they seemed to just hover unmoved and doggedly obsessed with sticking around because things were left unfinished. Ghosts that are now just measly remnants of a full, but flawed life, survived by an unwavering heart.