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Coming to the city was like entering a tunnel, and finding to your surprise that the light at the end didn’t matter; sometimes in fact the tunnel made the light tolerable.
The History of Love
Last nite I finished a book I basically started that morning. It was the best way to end my two week lapse from reality. While reading I realized:
- I have never ordered Chinese delivery in New York, the most New York dinner possible. The book’s main character ordered his every nite. So I ordered some last nite, too.
- There are two apartments (of six) on my floor that I have not seen anyone come out of in almost two years. Why in the suburbs do you see your neighbors more often than you do when you live in the same building? I hope whoever lives on the other side of those doors is not lonely.
- The Chinese-ordering character lives on my same street. I had pictured him uptown the entire time. Why do I assume all old people live uptown?
- I love that I can read books about New York and know exactly where everything is happening.
- The book is going to be a movie, maybe coming out this year. I’m really sick of great books being turned into movies. I know that’s how it works. But sometimes the book is enough.
- It’s impossible for me to not shed at least one tear when reading books about old people and/or kids.
