by peter_madera
Yesterday was a wonderful day out; just cool enough to feel alive, crisp enough to feel awake, and the perfect amount of sunlight to provoke nostalgia.
So, I went for a walk around my favorite parts of New York: Chelsea and the West Village. It was one of my best romantic adventures.
I walked around 12th & Hudson and stumbled upon some magnificent architecture. The stores were very posh, but the feeling of the overall area was something straight out of an old movie. The buildings looked slightly worn by age, but not run down at all.
I found myself walking into a building housing the Chelsea Marketplace. I fell in love. It's this simple 1-story marketplace full of food shops and delis; bakeries and patisseries; restaurants and live Dixieland Jazz. Though I felt somewhat guilty for being there because it was obvious that only wealthy affluent people could go there casually and shop (and there were a lot of people like that there), I felt like I had discovered the best private romantic spot to frequent...someday.
How marvelous!
And I continued walking through the Village to find my favorite shops lit up ever so....just enough to make me feel complete love for the area and miss it a lot. It's one of the places I miss when I'm abroad.
Since I was so satisfied with my walk through, I decided to continue on downtown back to my apartment over at the tip of Manhattan. Yes, it was quite the long walk, and my shin splints cried out a bit, but it was still great.
I put on my heels and met up with Aaron to eat Indian and go see "Outing Wittgenstein" over in Midtown. It was an interesting (and short) play ultimately about identity and the role of social constructs (i.e. gay, color, gender...). We discussed it a lot afterwards before we went to go see "The Prestige". That movie went slow enough to be thorough, and had entertaining qualities, but I was a little perplexed and somewhat disappointed about it for some reason...
Beforehand, we also went out to get more food at some Thai restaurant. I always forget how much men can eat.
The subway ride home was hilarious. I befriended some other woman in painful heels (like me), and was sitting in the train with a completely wasted boy from Fordham, or some other non-Manhattan college. There was a group of us younger people on the train where I was, and we were in stitches from this drunk guy's comments. Not much of it made sense, but I recall him hazing some girl about drinking Hawaiian Punch: That HI-C guy is just ballin' it on that can, just drinking that sugary goodness...you listen to your Radiohead, HI-C guy.
Who knoooows what he was trying to say???
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