It was a cold, wet night, in the East Village. And I was rushing to my destination.
I neared the next intersection, and a bar burst upon me on my right, with fogged windows and sounds of a party. And I saw dozens of people, crammed in a small space, all talking at once. Every hand grasped a glass of something intoxicating.
My feet slowed so I could drink in the scene, and I was awash with memories from my late twenties.
I was the one in a dark, grungy East Village bar (it could have been this one) with my friends after work. We were laughing and talking. But, I usually felt a twinge of loneliness even though I was far from alone. Our eyes darted to and fro, looking for that beautiful person, we might meet, or at least hoped to. We all still seemed thirsty, for some we couldn’t see, even though we all had a drink in our hand.
The chatter and laughter faded behind me as I strode across the street. I neared my friend’s apartment where a group of guys in their thirties and forties was ready to study the Bible together on a Friday night.
I had found Living Water.