April 14, 2008

There's this dog groomer down the block next to The Globe Cafe, and for whatever reason it's called The Poodle Emporium. I die every time I walk by it.

I was freezing all day at work today and usually it's utterly boiling, old radiators and the 17th floor and whatnot. I unbunched my pashmina and kept it wrapped around me like some old gypsy lady all day long. I only took my hands out to type.

This weekend was even better than expected: sitting behind Cara Settipani on the bus (thinking about AP bio and sitting next to her in band), 80 degrees but breezy, old maps at Eastern Market, low-flying ducks at the Jefferson Memorial, spontaneous hot dogs, wine sippin' while patio sittin', book stores, poetry books, notebooks, tv marathons, and the first iced coffee of the season. I have some completely great pics, but they are trapped in my camera because I can't find the USB cable. Photos TK.

Tonight on the subway this woman got on at 49th Street and she had her fleece-covered baby strapped to her front like a backwards papoose. I offered her my seat, but she said no thanks, which made me think that she couldn't bend her body with a baby on the front of it like that. But then when the woman sitting next to me got up, the baby-fronted woman sat down, and I saw inside the little fuzzy hood that was resting on her shoulder and it was utterly the most perfect baby face, all cheeks and button nose, sleeping through the mess of rush hour, kneeling on his mother's lap.

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