It actually felt like the city was alive, because there were actually people out, and that was good to see, and instead of paying for overpriced carnival food, we got takeout pizza at Edison's and came back to the apartment to listen to the new Roots album, drink Lazizas and philosophize about relationships.
I went back the next night with Lindsay after a family dinner and watched members of the Sugarhill Gang keep the party going and chilled out to a reggae band at the end of the night. When I got back out to the east side I was so exhausted I crashed on the couch there and drove home the next morning. So much for coffee and scrabble, hopefully next time.
And despite all the drama of the past month, the climax of that seems to have something of the divine timing to it. I'll be moving out of my lovely apartment after six of the most unpredictable months in my life. I'm going to miss my garden, my amazing roomie going on to bigger and brighter things, and the crazy kids running around, but it really is the best decision to make given the situation and a mutual understanding that is reassuring.
I haven't figured out if I'm going to life with some friends in Old Brooklyn or try to fly solo for a little while. I haven't lived with multiple people in awhile, and I know I get stir-crazy when left by myself for a long time, so we'll see how this all shakes out. Right now I'm leaning toward the roomies, which are two inner city school teachers and an Ethiopian college student. I guess this keeps me from getting too comfortable and soft... or something.
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