I think of you every day at the dining hall as I stretch the limits of my poor ravaged palate with hot sandwiches made with marinara and provolone or cucumbers and hummus, bolstering myself with thoughts of a cheese-filled cookie.
Every time I see a street performer standing on his head or an artistic flier taped to a bus stop or a page of really well-organized notes I begin to compose a letter to you in my head.
My notebooks are still filled with pen drawings of snakes, fish, birds, dragons, really large eyes, and the occasional goblet. Sometimes I write notes to my friends here on lined paper and fold them up with the little "Pull Me" tab, but I know they don't quite get it.
This summer I will trudge up the path to your house again and drop my oversize bag on the floor in your entryway and make small talk with Kendall while I wait for you to emerge in your baggy sweatpants and ridiculous excuse for a ponytail.
We can make lemon bars.
I love you, Macky.
Monday, February 16, 2009
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3 comments:
I was sitting here thinking: what kind of lousy excuse of a person doesn't have anything to do in São Paulo? And then I read this and now I'm thinking: I'm not so bad, my ponytails could use some work... Does payig for public transportation sometimes get you down? It's turning me into a crazy person. I spend all of my time on the bus/metro multiplying the fare by 2 (for the return trip) and then 7, and then 30, and then 365. How many people does New York have?
I have become sort of a recluse in the sense that I stay within the same 20 or so blocks all of the time... But whenever I go anywhere it costs $4 min which is roughly the same as the most excellent pan-fried pork dumplings in the world that are across the street from me, so it is hard to motivate myself.
Whatevs.
Money isn't real. Screw society. Screw the man.
I've been WANTING pork dumplings. And I'm a vegetarian. But they've been popping up all over my life. In cooking shows and in dreams. Can you bring me one?
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