i think i am going to start writing mass transit vignettes asap
dinners out. italian restaurant, la fenise or finese maybe... vespa (so upper east side, sitting in the window on second ave and 84th with my beautiful raspberry mojito) with my mom and her friend... royal indian restaurant with verd and deb and cathy and maureen and christine. the whole bunch of us. and today, the japanese restaurant at 25 st. mark's... beer (a pitcher of sapporo for only 8 bucks -- what?!) and delicious edamame and other wonderful FOODDDD... saying sumimasen and reminiscing about kyoto. must go back there SOON and find out the name other than "the place below search&destroy with the statue of the smushed panda outside".
on the way home, taking the M14... after so many summers on the L train, it's different but refreshing to be taking the 14th street bus... listening to the arcade fire, taking the uptown express subway. very good-looking guy with enormous splatters of green paint covering the majority of his forearms... markings near his shirt sleeve that resembled cigarette burns. getting of at 72nd street, up the usual stairs, spotting three red-black rose petals strewn across the uppermost step.
which reminds me of my subway ride this morning. situating my headphones, wiping the sweat from my face as discreetly as possible, getting settled standing by a door with hand on shiny pole... i looked up. and what before my eyes but a fresh direct advertisement for lobster beginning with the word "Montauk" in bright bold type... i looked around the subway car and the other fresh direct ads were all different -- this one was meant for me. this advertisement, lit from behind by blinding, whirring, energy-sucking, industrial flourescent bulbs... this advertisement, corporate and manipulative, right in my line of vision... somehow it became romantic in my eyes and mind. it was a sign. it was him.
like my nightly fucking dreams that he appears in, no matter how many scattered chapters my dreams contain, now matter how fragmented and random but not SO random (you know, in a pulp fictiony way), HE is always in them. every night. this has never happened before, no matter how fucking obsessed with / in love with someone i have been....
and then they had to play "lean back", although the remix, in the virgin megastore. i smiled.
did i mention how many extraordinarily hot men work at strand bookstore? even though some of them walk by leaving behind not only the scent of well-worn leaves of paper but also the oh-so-recognizable odor of sweat... i went there to look for Sideways but couldn't find it. verd is going to lend me Middlesex, but i want ot get through Memoirs of a Geisha first, maybe Fear & Loathing first too. so many books i want to read this summer... not to mention the stupid GRE study guide.
oh man
on the way home, taking the M14... after so many summers on the L train, it's different but refreshing to be taking the 14th street bus... listening to the arcade fire, taking the uptown express subway. very good-looking guy with enormous splatters of green paint covering the majority of his forearms... markings near his shirt sleeve that resembled cigarette burns. getting of at 72nd street, up the usual stairs, spotting three red-black rose petals strewn across the uppermost step.
which reminds me of my subway ride this morning. situating my headphones, wiping the sweat from my face as discreetly as possible, getting settled standing by a door with hand on shiny pole... i looked up. and what before my eyes but a fresh direct advertisement for lobster beginning with the word "Montauk" in bright bold type... i looked around the subway car and the other fresh direct ads were all different -- this one was meant for me. this advertisement, lit from behind by blinding, whirring, energy-sucking, industrial flourescent bulbs... this advertisement, corporate and manipulative, right in my line of vision... somehow it became romantic in my eyes and mind. it was a sign. it was him.
like my nightly fucking dreams that he appears in, no matter how many scattered chapters my dreams contain, now matter how fragmented and random but not SO random (you know, in a pulp fictiony way), HE is always in them. every night. this has never happened before, no matter how fucking obsessed with / in love with someone i have been....
and then they had to play "lean back", although the remix, in the virgin megastore. i smiled.
did i mention how many extraordinarily hot men work at strand bookstore? even though some of them walk by leaving behind not only the scent of well-worn leaves of paper but also the oh-so-recognizable odor of sweat... i went there to look for Sideways but couldn't find it. verd is going to lend me Middlesex, but i want ot get through Memoirs of a Geisha first, maybe Fear & Loathing first too. so many books i want to read this summer... not to mention the stupid GRE study guide.
oh man