It’s a terrible day and we all know it. And its not just the obvious, the bout that local news channels remember for us, but the call from my brother to talk about my dog who died on September 11th a few years ago, just ten days after I moved out, after I signed my Manhattan lease, packed bags, scratched the dog behind the ears and touched my nose to his soft, polished head and walked away. After that, 9/11 always felt weird. I mean, I didn’t lose anyone. I, and all of us that day, just sank and sank. And now as I walk against the city pedestrians fighting or embracing the somberness, the smoke and images and memories and everything just barks and barks.
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