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.

Hmm.

4 comments:

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."