Wednesday, February 2, 2011

irony: not just for hipsters

Strolling through Bushwick hand in hand, after Saturday afternoon vinyasa death class, I realized why the intersection between Jack's loft and the yoga studio always feels so familiar.

Remember that douchebag Vegan realtor that took me apartment hunting in Bushwick?

Yeah well, I just realized that (had I been able to fit a twin bed in the room and still closed the door) I almost lived two blocks from Jack's apartment. In a never-been-renovated railroad apartment above a framing store. Across from a Getty gas and a few industrial warehouse loading zones.

Also: Tuesday nights after tango class we've been eating our brought-from-home sandwich dinners over paper cups of tea at a deli on 7th Avenue. One never notices the names of these places, but—just in case you were curious—this particular one is called The New Start Deli.



Erie Lackawanna said...

Bushwick was never a place where the banter included Vinyasa, Tango Class, Negronis, Kant, or Kerouac on rooftops. Look in the mirror. Newsflash: you and Jack are hipsters. There goes the neighborhood.

Phoenix said...

The jury's still out on whether you and Jack are hipsters until you answer me this: Do either of you wear skinny jeans?

And I'm pretty sure the universe thrives off of irony.

Anonymous said...

You must be happy -- you're not writing. Our loss but we cannot begrudge you love, be it hip or not.

Anonymous said...

"When I was unhappy / words slipped ceaselessly / from my pen, / arrows down the page, / tars run together, / running to tell."