We poured shots of sake and even though I do not like sake I swallowed one down between chunks of iceberg and pieces of maki and another and another sake. We fell out onto the avenue in giggles and everyone lit cigarettes but me. The first one was half-lit and canoed slowly. The other one burned like a holy light. I used to smoke. I smoked for five years, and then stopped, because too many cancer cells played make believe and hide and go seek and I wanted out. I watched the little whisps of smoke curl around their lips and the sweet fig smell of tobacco burn up into ash. The wind picked up. The night dragged on with us up the avenue.
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