I meant to write you ages ago, but then the days turned into weeks so suddenly and things got busy, as they tend to do in this wild city. Been thinking about you recently.
Summer in the city is fading quickly with the mass exodus of student interns and the return of my NYU friends.
In a couple brief impressions and colors, the past few weeks have been:
a bus ride by the rising sun + talk with a long ago friend
a liberating phone call on 44th st, all silver and greasy fingerprints and wild laughter
dark locks of hair gathering on the ground below me in a Flushing hair salon
my hands and arms sticky with lychee juice, fragrant and sweet
pink clouds hanging above Sheep's Meadow
numb toes and air in out in out in out
a sleeptalking friend + an ex-lover + a partner in crime + a mentor
beers and corn on an Astoria fire escape by the dying lilac light
flowers and bright cobalt Frida at the top of the world, way at the end of the 4