She had big bright blue unblinking eyes. She stared up at me, gathered a fistful of gravel, and poured it on my feet. She didn’t look at the gravel or my sandals, she kept staring me down, waiting for a reaction, searching my face. I laughed. Madison Square Park was crowded with screaming children, but she was calm. She gathered up another tight fistful and let it loose. The grit was in between my toes. She was only two years old. Do you like that? I asked. She finally blinked. I might have seen a hint of a smile. She liked it alright.
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