In the summer, the city smells like dead fish, even more so now than before. The trees, especially the hirsute ones uptown, are to blame. It gets colder—just like it always did—in the fall, except now when the trees shed leaves, they develop a fine coating of hair. In the spring, the thin strands molt off the branches and trunks and the street cleaners sweep the streets like a barbershop floor. By June, there are a few stray hairs left in the city. Most of them end up in the Hudson where the scaly fish choke on them and drift under the West Side Highway. The hookers have since vacated Tenth 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