Tuesday, June 10, 2008

It was probably well after four when we finally got kicked out of the bar -- Mooney's usually stays open late for us, and I don't mean one extra round late -- though I was having so much fun earlier to took off my watch. We were sitting on the back porch drinking God-only-knows what whiskey (as the night gets older and wallets get empty, which whiskey you're throwing into your belly matters less and less) and having a good time not caring what anyone else thought. A group of yuppies started making fun of my neighborhood and we spent the next hour talking about rock music and how hot Jenny Lewis is (yuppies love Jenny Lewis and secretly love my neighborhood). When we all fell out of the bar and into the streets of Bay Ridge, instead of getting on the road towards our homes we went to the farmer's market and bought cherries and talked about horseracing.

There's a temptation to try to relive the days that we loved so much, especially, for me, during the summer. It's important to recognize that the way these memories are built is not by trying to recreate others. It's precious to hold and keep with you, and when you walk down that one street or smell the summer subway smell for the first time it kinda gets you, but I need to remind myself that there is only today. So I guess that is my goal for the summer. So far I am off to a good start.

Also: God dammit is that fucking sandcastles picture not the funniest effing thing you have ever seen in your whole life? No kidding I think I have looked at it, like, eight times today and I bust up every single time.


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