I love summer nights, after it's rained earlier and the air is soft and balmy. I could walk for miles on nights like these.
Blotchy red roses and delicate purple flowers on display along Amsterdam Avenue.
A spell of cathartic writing, where I pour out all the simmering anger and shape it into something useful.
Lunch hour: Shakshouka with haloumi cheese, a corner table, and a good book.
Struck by the number of strangers around me - people I'll never know, who brush up against my life as I brush against theirs when we dodge past each other on a crowded sidewalk.
An unspoken "let's pretend it never happened" instead of a spoken "I'm sorry."
I haven't played chess since childhood but all it takes is a few games and I start to see the connections again between the pieces. Instead of sending them out in disjointed short-sighted moves, I start to get how one can protect another, how they can operate in tandem to pose a threat to and capture opponent pieces. I have fun rediscovering all of this.