Labor Day

"Leisure alone, as great as it is, will not restore your soul."

-Rev David Bisgrove

It's Labor Day today.

I've eaten Mexican food and gelato, read up on representative democracy and texted friends. I have a date in a few hours, with an Italian man. It's all very leisurely.

But I feel anxious today. This feeling surprised me because I haven't felt this way all summer. I think it's not about the actual work I'll do this semester. It's about all the missed opportunities and mistakes I made in undergrad. This feeling is about all the happily married finance workers that mill about the city on Saturdays. Really--it has very little to do with me. But I feel it, nevertheless.

Instead of thinking too much on it, I'm choosing to focus on the day ahead and all the possibilities it holds. Museums, if I'm interested. The parks. Friends. Laughter. Exaggerated sentimentality.

And rest.

The Bazaar Around the Corner

Last night, despite paralyzing jet lag, I grabbed dinner with a friend at a Moroccan restaurant on the UWS: Shalel Lounge. 

Rose petals lined an iron stairwell down into the lounge, which was really a cross between a bomb-shelter and a middle eastern bazaar. We sat side-by-side on velvet cushions, facing three, French-kissing couples. I sipped Tempranillo and grazed on tuna bric, leaning back onto my elbows from time to time, relaxed by the dimly lit laughter.

Intimate, strange, savory. 

A New York Tuesday kind of place.

Weekends on the UWS

I stuffed coconut shrimp and dolmas and guacamole-coated chips into my mouth.

It's been one of those celebratory weekends, I guess. 

Hamas, Israel, 3D printing, Amazon, Happy Hour, Self-discipline, CS Lewis, Jean Paul Sartre.

Monday Morning Coffee

There's a middle-aged Chinese man sitting on the bench outside Joe Coffee. He has the tiniest shoulders, which are neatly tucked inside his blue-grey polo shirt. His right leg is flopped over his left, and his right foot, tied too-tightly into a worn, black leather boxing shoe, flexes up and down. 

A middle-aged husky woman, turns into the shop. Her hair is piled on top of her head, with different tones of gold and brown knotted messily on both sides of a stretchy, black head band. The edges of her bulky calves glitter--a Lululemon logo, reflective silver against the black. 

An older man in an old, red running shirt checks his phone while a demitasse of espresso waits half-sipped to his left. His running shoes are electric blue, with that reflective detailing. His ankle socks are black, with orange. The back of his head is clean-cut and still wet with sweat. His upper arms are matted with soft, dark hair. He jerks up, slides Bose headphones up from his collar, over his ears. He turns, walks out the door, looks left, looks right. He waits for it. Then leaves.

After he's gone, the espresso and its plate and spoon remain for less than a minute before a young, fleshy boy in a salmon-pink tee takes them away.