standing in Fotografiska explaining to my straight white dude friend who lives in lower manhattan that the thesis of brat is about being a party girl in spirit but also being early thirties (she's 32, don't believe me, look it up) and trying to figure out if you want to have a baby and how no one in this city is married before 34
finding myself in the Museum of Chinese in America with L, standing among the absolutely heart-stopping high school art exhibit, discussing the literary themes of brat, the panic of being late-twenties-early-thirties and how everyone is getting married, silently screaming and laughing all at the same time, feeling so good, so perfect, so lucky
the tiny restaurant on east 13th with a brand new friend who instantly understood my most obscure new favourite joke about brat and quantization, and how easy that was
cycling eighty blocks up and down Manhattan and then across the Queensboro Bridge at midnight out of necessity because how else was i going to get home???
cycling from Brooklyn to Queens across the bridge over Newtown Creek and being stunned by the moment of stillness as i crested the top of the bridge; for a whole twenty seconds there were no cars and no ships and no one around and i took in quiet in the middle of the city like i had never found. there's a really good reason for this (e.g. it's full of toxic waste), but anyway
walking into the gorgeous pilates studio at the moment that they were playing iris by the goo goo dolls and the way i stopped breathing for a moment??? i was too young to be listening to the radio in 2000 but i bet this song was everywhere. every time i hear it in the wild it still stops me wherever i am; it's an unbelievably hungry song and i want to play it at my wedding but that's an objectively insane thing to do
the car that drove past me with their windows down playing morgan wallen's last night and the way i cheered on the inside. it might not have been the song of the summer like they said but i bet it was someone's song of the summer. it could've been mine if mine weren't already the thirty seconds of transition between brat's i think about it all the time and 365
pouring la colombe iced lattes into a crystal wine glass every morning. i can't believe that i wasn't doing this before and now i want to do this forever
spending the afternoon helping S adopt a baby cat from the shelter on Broadway and stealing a copy of Trick Mirror from his ex's bookshelf
Greenpoint on Sunday mornings: the perfect stillness of the waterfront vs. the suddenness of a seaplane flying into the East River, the gorgeous Lebanese café on Franklin Avenue, WNYC Transmitter Park
plotting out the longest chain of asian girls in the city—i'm going to move to new york city and stay forever and throw a party and the theme is just going to be "asian girls i met in nyc" and they're all going to be instant friends with each other, i'll make it happen



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