So I have an admitted obsession with New York City. I guess it began when I used to skip classes in H.S. to go to central park and rollerblade. There was just something so liberating about it. So free. I remember being 17 and packing up my little gold Ford Escort with all my clothes in garbage bags, and tons of poetry and journals and books, and moving up there. For the first week I sat at this little coffee shop in the east village literally drinking espresso until my head exploded while “people watching” and writing naïve little poems. I had little index cards tucked in my journal with subway directions to all of these places I’d read about. Obscure poets homes. Cute little designer boutiques. Places to get the best pizza. Walking around the city with no make-up, no heels, a cute little suburban bob and floral skirts, I felt like I had finally found my little place in the world. I had a boyfriend who was a male model/stockbroker/overbearing control freak. But we were happy for the mo...
You didn't think death would stop me from talking your ear off did you?