There’s so many (real and fake) plants in this house that I feel like I just walked into an Abercrombie & Fitch store.
You know that momentary feeling of obsessive compulsiveness as you’re exiting out the front door in the morning and, knowing that you’ll be gone for the whole day, you proceed to do the existential pat-down to make sure that you haven’t forgotten anything?
I constantly feel that… like I’m always leaving and forgetting things behind.
Sure, the L is only about a three-minute walk from my apartment while the M is about a twelve-minute walk.
Sure, the L runs more frequently and gets into Manhattan faster than the M.
Sure, the L runs right through 14th St. in Manhattan and gets me to some of my favorite neighborhoods.
But damn it, I’ve had it with these hipters ruining my commute, one of my prime reading times—at least when I ride the M.
Also, the M is generally much cleaner, less packed, and has less annoying people that ride it.
M > L
This + excellent champagne = today’s lunch.
I can only wish to accomplish as much when I’m 80 years old.
This weather reminds me that I’m an Asian from a Pacific island located just 14 degrees North of the equator who, as a child, used to run around the neighborhood in my underwear ‘cos that was the only sufficient attire for the constant heat and humidity of the afternoon sun in a country where an air conditioner was quite possibly the most luxurious item to possess.
Hindi ‘ko gusto ito!
On my way to the train this morning, I passed by a hipster riding an old-fashioned bike like this. He was riding it the only way you could possibly ride this bike in this day and age: ironically.
This is how I know I live in Bushwick, Brooklyn.