Cobble Hill in December

I’ve spent two hours in a nice coffee shop I’d only ever popped into for a coffee on the go. It has levels in it for varied seating. They’ve been playing Carly Rae Jepsen and Ariana Grande albums, to my delight and contrast against rickety wood tables and cast iron railings.

I plopped down on the ripped cushions after dropping my bag at the laundromat, the only person in the place besides the Korean owner, for just a brief moment. She chuckled at me carrying the bag alone and in heels.

I carried my laptop and two books here in a crossbody tote. I finished the final 40 pages of a book I voraciously gobbled the first half of weeks ago. I had an apple walnut muffin with another type of fruit at its core that I really don’t remember. I got my second/bonus drink after finishing the book and before writing on my laptop (now, I’m talking about right now). I got an email confirming that Jason picked something up for me at Best Buy and a reminder for my rental car on Monday.

I liked the broad quiet sidewalks everywhere I went today. I wore all stripes today, in all different patterns and textures and colors. I sought to be fun and bright and quiet on the gray streets. It’s been lovely.

I like the feelings I get once I’ve drawn the toxins of work out of my bloodstream, the insistence to focus. Making my day what I want it to be once household needs are addressed, the freedom of walking in my home, hearing the barking and squabbles of my streets when they punctuate, novel only during this week and a half compared to the way they integrate into the neighbourhood’s music all the other days of the year. I like imagining what the feeling of the sidewalk is under other shoes in other areas, what their sounds are, what places people can sit in for a long time. There are at least twenty different instances of this in Brooklyn alone. It’s relief to take off rushed work blinders and see my home.