In the summer, when it rains chaotically, some sort of electricity runs through an office building. Ripping-paper thunderbolts and blinding sheets of rain startle secretaries. Employees find reasons to make coffee, to sit near the window and invent new adjectives to describe the rain. Someone says weighty. Everyone else drinks the coffee and nods politely. The skyline folds into the clouds and the building feels abandoned. Department managers go missing, like an inter-office Bermuda Triangle settled on 12M. The interns suspect something unusual has happened, but pretend to work. When the fog lifts, the coffee pot is empty. A streak of sun tries to push through the smoky city clouds. Everyone is working, after all, and the managers have finished their meeting.
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