Where Everybody Knows Your Name

As I found myself struggling to come to terms with where I was in life, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of disappointment crushing down on me. I had always believed that I was destined for greatness, that I was meant for something more than what I was currently experiencing. But as the years went by and my dreams seemed further and further out of reach, I found myself spiraling into a dark place. To make myself feel better, I started to revisit West 8th Street, the place where I had once held Sunday Night Screenings at Gizzi’s in the West Village. The BBQs across the street from where Gizzi’s once stood was my new haunt, and I found myself returning there time and time again. I would drink cheap liquor and beer, and bask in the attention of those who worked there and served us. The staff had seen me enough to know who I was, and I knew that walking into that establishment was a guaranteed ego boost. The smell of smoke and grilled meat filled the air, and I would sit there, sipping on my drink and feeling the weight of my troubles start to fade away. In those moments, I felt like I was somebody, like I was important and valued. Each drink became another “Infinity Stone” added to my glove, my ego inflating with each passing moment. It was a welcome respite from the disappointment and sadness that had been weighing me down. I know that drinking to feel better about myself was not a healthy coping mechanism. But in those moments, I thought it was all I had. I felt it helped me to push through, to keep going even when everything seemed hopeless.

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