Monday, July 27, 2009

One Hand in my Pocket...

Patsy Cline plays in the background, bearded college kids hover over their macbooks, and intellectuals clamor over the latest Harry Potter movie. Ah the coffee house. The most granola of coffee houses in Lincoln Nebraska. It’s the closest I can get to New York (outside of my studio apartment glued to all six seasons of sex and the city). The attendants even give you shit if you don't show your face at least once a month. Accusing you of taking drips from other tasteless brewing houses. But even the walk itself, down to the coffee house also make it semi-New York; with the tallest buildings topping off at the 20th floor, line 13th street from my small studio to re-caffeination-heaven. With each passing day my passion for finding myself in New York grows deeper. I recently ran across (and by run across I mean frantically looked for) my pictures from my one-and-only trip to NY thus far. I was all of 15 and in a day dream the entire time. I was drunk with excitement, mesmerized by the sea of yellow cabs, the ear piercing sirens, and in love with the buildings that have brunch with the sun. A world so hectic it could only be called New York. And from New York to Nebraska, one picture has detain my enthusiasm and has found a place on my fridge in my small New York-like studio.

Authors note: as cliche as the I Heart NY is, I (in my older state of mind) find it imperative that the first trip to the city should include an investment in the 50/50 blend $15 shirt. And (in my younger stated of mind) found it too cliche to bring myself to purchase. (Really?!)

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