We went to Governor’s Island and walked the perimeter. It was beautiful, and the view of the Manhattan skyline was romantic. He looked like Clark Kent; he spoke like Woody Allen. He pushed his black, plastic glasses up his sharp, perfect nose and smiled. He stammered. I blushed. And he kissed me, and it was like a tongue mushing its way into a paperbag. Another perfect date down the drain.
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