The blistery, once stubborn winter cold has given way to a spring perfume of cotton candy, roasted nuts, sleepers and jugglers at Union Square. The wind is whipping and unforgiving - the trees murmur in toddler flower buds. An iced coffee here, a mimosa there. I try to find The Great Gatsby at NYU Bobst Library and it's a disaster, that gigantuam of a place*. The Influence of Film on Fitzgerald...Joycean Themes in The Great Gatsby...the Columbian Companion to the West Egg...everything but the real thing. I step outside and find it among other vintage books through a street vendor. It is five dollars.
You close your eyes as the train drives by, tippy-toed on the orange warning line. What's to come is idleness. Hunger. Argumentative sleep, and unrequited dreams. Zero closure. Just trying to live.
*At least I got some interesting photos out of it. Happy Easter.
xoxo,
C
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