Classic NYC Story

For those of you who haven’t been paying attention, I’m getting married in the morning.

I left the sweater on her bed
with a “thank you.”
Three days later
“can I borrow your jacket?”

A few days ago I tried on a pair of jeans at Levi’s and discovered that I had a muffin top. Yes, I said a muffin top. Apparently, I’m getting fat.

Nobody believes me when I say this, though.

I made it a point to look out the window, as I usually do when the trains go overground. I looked out at Chinatown and the nameless project buildings on the border between Chinatown and the top edge of the Financial District, creeping out toward the East River. I used to have a storage box in a Manhattan Mini Storage on Catherine Slip, just blocks from those project buildings.

I am naked.
You clothe me with your lies [...]

“You know,” I mused as we sat leisurely in the grass, waiting for the show we had been blocked from to begin, “The other day in the garment district, I saw a dress that made me think of you.” [...]

I’ve noticed that at moments when I would have otherwise looked… raggedy, I was saved by the presence of my scarf. A faded tank top that has seen better days… cheap too-long jeans folded up at the bottom so I don’t tread on the hems… throw a pashmina over it and suddenly it looks like I did it on purpose.

“You should have told the monkey to make a quick stop in Queens and bring your father back his railroad pass!”
“Okay, mother. Okay.”

She knows about clothes, though. Much more than I do. She’s got closets and suitcases full of Club Monaco and Express and bebe… She told me to be careful with her jacket as she’s only had it a month. It’s her “baby.”