I woke up with a headache but also with the memory of a nice dream about a handsome man. I looked out the window and.. snow. Nice, light, falling, fluffy white stuff falling from the sky at a leisurely pace as if the flakes were collectively and in tiny little voices saying, "No rush. We have all day." I threw on my new, virgin snow boots and multiple layers of warm clothes and headed down the stairs, down the hill, and down the street to the corner deli for a breakfast sandwich and a glimpse of my Harlem neighborhood temporarily dressed in white. I came back up the street, up the hill, and up the stairs to my apartment where I popped a sudafed, poured a giant cup of coffee, and perched myself in my eating-room-turned-writing-room for the rest of the morning. I listened to Feist and had a fb chat with Uncle Ed. I listened to Etta James and filled out my renewal lease form. I listened to the song "Betty Davis Eyes" because I remembered the line about New York snow. I thought, "So this is what a happy morning looks like."
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125th Street
(also note the Apollo Theater on the right, Obama was there on Thursday) |
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A view out my window
(This is the same hill that I saw an undercover cop run up toward gun shot last Spring) |
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| Supplies |
Now, work at 1:00. It was fun while it lasted.
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