I went to New York this weekend and fell in love with a lot of ideas. What used to scare me excited me, and then I didn’t know what to think. I wanted to know more about the rollerblading Easter Bunny dressed in black trash bags.
I saw this one boy sitting at a table outside. He was reading a book his roommate purchased from a used bookstore at seventeen and kept on a windowsill shelf. His apartment is small but clean, crowded yet simple. He’s the kind of person who makes the neighborhood his living room. He knows how to iron.
I thought about my own apartment, the hallway lined with unorganized closets. I thought about the weather and reputations. I thought about time and relationships. I didn’t say anything about the boy and probably started a conversation about grocery stores instead.
It’s true that I believe grocery shopping will probably never be a chore for me, but that I’m afraid it might be. I know dinner isn’t going anywhere, but I’m also afraid it’s not time for that yet, and I seriously do not want to miss the appropriate time for a snack.