All is humidity and beer and work and play and change over here in
Brooklyn this summer. I'm living a life of total fiscal irresponsibility
and so far have not been forced to come to terms with the fact that
it's unsustainable. We have lots of fans all throughout our apartment
and sometimes they're effective and mostly they're not.
There's
something really sweet about summer in New York, even though it is so
absolutely, determinedly hot, and the kids on my street set off
fireworks outside my window, and the restaurant where I work is like an armpit but with more huevos rancheros.
People look kind of beautiful with their perpetual sheen, and the sun
wakes you up early and keeps you up late. The fire hydrants that
constantly spout water make you feel like you're walking through New
York the way it always has been and the way it always will be.
I'm
working on happiness, and am concurrently wondering what that means.
Right now I guess it means signing up for a ceramics class and not
worrying about the future. The future is the fall. When I put on a
sweater I'll think about what comes next. For now it's all loose cotton
and the feeling of the soft tar of the roof under my legs while I sit,
alone or with friends, and watch the Manhattan skyline simmer.