Woman on the subway today, painting her nails. Pink, I think. I can hardly begin to understand how she did it. I’m nowhere close to being that coordinated or, come to it, that desperate for time that rattling uptown on the express is the only chance I have to give myself a quick manicure.
I was talking to Sweet Girl tonight (pls. refer to Dirty Water) and we were both recognizing how tonight is Thursday and on Thursday’s in Boston we would always go to the Pig on the Hill and we would always have a great time and I would always be hung over at work on Friday. Not hung over on Friday anymore (sadly), as this job requires a lot more focus and concentration.
Speaking of a job that requires focus and attention – I’m heading out of the city tomorrow to visit home for the weekend. Since I’ve been here I don’t feel like I can function normally outside of the city limits but this weekend I’m giving it a try. Once you get into the New York groove it’s difficult to get out. Different cities have different feels, and while I’ve got Boston under my skin, New York (for now anyway) runs my life.
I smiled at the woman painting her nails with her groceries balanced on her lap on the subway, and thought that perhaps I’m headed down the path to becoming that kind of New Yorker. That kind of New Yorker is everywhere. But me? I would never wear pink.
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