![]() And in the immediate hours of my breakup devastation, I went back to Union Pool for the exact reason everyone knows to go to Union Pool. In a few short years, the lore of Union Pool - premiere boyfriend store of post-hipster Brooklyn - had spread to fixed gear ’n’ beanie enclaves across the land. “ Everyone knows why you go there!”Īh, yes. ![]() “Why did you keep going to the Union Pool if you actually wanted to be with me?” he demanded. ![]() This boyfriend had never lived in Brooklyn and only visited a handful of times - but even he knew what it meant to “go to Union Pool.” When he broke up with me, about a month later, he was surprised that I cried and resisted. I’m outside Union Pool and I’m soooooogg drunk. For this kindness, I - unable to withstand the emotional discomfort of cross-country love - tortured him by going to Union Pool every weekend and calling him to say things like, “What are you doing this weekend? I’m probably going to Union Pool.” Or, worse, texting him, digitally slurring, “Whatcha doin?. In 2011, I moved to Brooklyn from Oakland, leaving behind a cheap apartment and a nice boyfriend who patiently agreed to enter into a long-distance relationship while I went off to forge a career in magazines.
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