We were supposed to go ice skating. We didn’t. Ice skating was cancelled for one reason, and then another. The night grew cold. I felt sick, anyway. We didn’t go ice skating. I had sweet vodka gingers instead. The truck’s rearview mirror was broken. It reminded me of a Pearl Jam song I liked in high school. Instead of ice skating, we played charades in the back of the red-lit, black-tiled bar. It was cold, too cold for the ice, and the winter’s ambivalence blew slow down the salty Brooklyn streets.
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