I could smell a change in the weather even last night. There might be a plane overhead. Or soon to be. Picture it: Dish, in new cutoffs and stepfather's shirt (sick yes, awesome no), wandering the streets and breathing in the dawn of a new week. The skies felt a little Britishier, the pavement ready for my Pop-loving feet. Sure, the work-mountains I must conquer, but my DVR is set for GMA and a little champs for Monday's viewing. JK, I don't drink Actually, I was on my way to Duane Reade to buy a shower curtain. Dish is ever-mindful of those menial tasks, the break sorely needed from crumbling sentences and putting them back together again. In one Woolf-esque moment (I think I'll buy the shower curtain myself), I stood on 19th street, watched the giggling couples, the sad Saturday night bar scene, the idle firehouse and jittery boys looking for cough syrup. I am part of this landscape--the scraggly girl running errands. Would it ever change? No. But Duran Duran is almost here.
If only Mrs. Dalloway had listened to Hungry Like the Wolf.
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