The cold is crashing down on the city. It’s already happened, and I’m in denial. I refuse to wear socks until it’s absolutely frostbitten necessary. I decided to take Friday off work and go upstate to look at the leaves. They already fell, someone told me. There’s not much to look at. Well that’s just fine then. If nature wants to errupt into a quick petite mort without me, that’s her perogative. I will buy a nugget of weed, roll it into little spliffs, and smoke them in the fridgid night. No, I’ll bury my shoulders in the hot tub and look at the stars. And the next day I’ll walk around the buddhist monastery and regret my broken camera and my broken other things. That sounds nice, someone told me. It does, I said. You can come next time.
Subway MapSubway Philosophy is about New York, culture, sex, publishing, memories, alcohol, or a combination of the above. Originally taken from drunken musings on the subway, it has evolved into something extraordinarily similar to most young blogs: which is to say, redundant, romantic, and woefully introspective.
Current Subway ReadingWhite Teeth