Last night is a fuzzy blur of Irish Pubs, advice from older people, men from different countries, and one overly friendly taxi driver. Despite my actual desire to more or less stop drinking entirely, one Irish Pub leads to one Guinness leads to a free vodka shot from our Albanian bartender leads to another guy buying us more beer. New York is bad on my lack of desire to drink.

It's strange how many people I meet here. It's never a problem--meeting people at home, I mean--but here it's different. People want to do things with strangers. And in some ways, this is how I pictured being an adult: skirts that flap in the light summer breeze while I walk through a park in the middle of the city. Meet someone I've never seen before. Lunch and a movie together. Meet my friends for wine and Indian food. Dessert on the house. Sun-kissed shoulders and bright lights shaped like chili peppers. Grabbing a taxi. Shooting pool while a nice guy strums his guitar softly on the bench nearby. Walking through the steamy June streets hand in hand. Meeting Dutch men with bright blue eyes over greasy pizza and learning to say key phrases that won't get me arrested.

I don't feel tip top today, despite eating the world's best sandwich in the Financial District and drinking an ungodly amount of orange juice. Though we're away from home and maybe we should be out exploring, I'm enjoying just sitting here in the hostel, cooled by my afternoon shower and clad in black yoga pants and a grey t-shirt. Adventures, albeit ones that won't involve adult beverages, can start again later. For now I'm just enjoying the fans, the rain, the afternoon light that filters through the clouds and makes the water on the windows sparkle.