We left work Friday and took a three hour train as east as it would go. We ate fish on the water and stared off at the moon. We dragged blankets and pillows on the huge private terrace overlooking the bay and wrapped ourselves up in comforters and looked up. The stars were never brighter. We found a pancake house and ordered tall, syrupy stacks. (We went back twice.) We walked along the beach, dragged our shoes in the sand, dipping our hands in the icy Atlantic ocean. We found a local bar and drank beer with townies, and then showed up drunk for our couples massage. We napped, we fucked, we showered afterward. We went out to dinner and ordered huge lobsters stuffed with crab. We went back to the pancake house in the morning. We walked around town. We saw the lighthouse and walked down the beach path and ended up hiking up wet rocks with the ocean waves slamming at the cliffs, spraying a fine salty mist as we screamed and gripped onto each other so we didn’t fall to a cold, wet, scraped-knee death. We sipped scotch in front of the fireplace. We went in the hot tub but abandoned it to go swimming in the indoor pool. We sat in the cedar sauna and beads of sweat gathered around our collar bones. We watched the sunset over the bay from our bed. We left early Monday morning and shared cannolis on the train. We fell asleep on each other and woke up in New York City.
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