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Goodbye, Florent, goodbye

Today, Florent closed. On my way home, I heard fireworks towards the Hudson. I imagined they were for the passing of this restaurant.

I said my goodbyes on my birthday, eating dinner towards the end of Florent's years even as I celebrated the start of a new year for myself. We ordered a tuna starter and the mussels with fries. It was fantastic. Luckily, we were seated at a corner of the counter with views over the entire restaurant. We didn't have a reservation and the wait for a table was over an hour. Still people waited.

The woman beside us had been going almost since Florent's inception. She said she remembered the area before it had become tamed. Her husband admired my camera. He excitedly explained its origins to his wife.

Midway through our meal, Florent appeared in one of his restaurant's pink t-shirts. The woman beside us pointed him out. I recognized him from a photo that ran in New York magazine alongside an appreciation of the restaurant he founded. He sat himself at a table towards the front, joining a group of his friends.

The couple beside us finished first and they said their goodbyes. We bought t-shirts and snapped photos of our food and of the restaurant. I turned around on my stool and took this shot of the restaurant's front window pane, one letter etched out to reveal a different, but no less apt, name.

And then it was over. We thanked our waiters and said goodbye to the host. Outside, a light rain formed a mist around us. I walked home, eschewing my umbrella. The memory of the meal and the restaurant formed a warm core in the center of my being.