Memories of love

The train was bursting with colors. People around us were brandishing the rainbow colors on every item of clothing humanly possible. There were glitters on their makeup and colors on their lips. It was the New York pride parade that day. World pride, they said, 50 years since the Stonewall riots. We had driven down from New Haven to attend it, parked outside the city and took the subway. I was slightly buzzed from the vodka we had started gulping earlier. The alcohol and the monotone of the train were making me drowsy. I found a small space between two people and sat down. The light on the top of my seat was flickering randomly. My friends stood in front of me and talked about India's chances of winning the cricket world cup after losing to England that very morning.