Still letting stop lights tell me when to move, 700 feet below the pavement.
Waiting for that M to take me over the dingy East River to a land of beasts and fowls.
Lost my Hunter and gained a record player.
I think I’d rather have my Hunter.
A post and a pocket knife. Thank you for spelling my name right. My hand smells like beef arm, my souls are worn through and my train is now arriving. I miss my bike and where we use to go. I’m so thrilled about grass fed. How did I luck into this whole side of cow?
Oh, side note… Try to avoid 70 year old chocolate bars from the bodega under the stairs, found in the 8th ave subway station.
But by all means continue on the trend of mast brothers salted dark chocolate bars.
& heart & veal & 40 days later
Meat for six and dinner for two.
So grass fed, let me get this straight…
You fed me lunch, gave me coffee, bought me and Robert six drinks, I don’t have to work service, I get to leave at eight, AAAAAND you’re throwing groceries at me so I can make dinner????
Can someone read me this post in six months when I’m bored?
Hunter, it’s time to step away from your jeans and tees and into some leggings with an oversized animal print top and your black gladiator heels…
I’m ready when you are but I’m not so sure Portland is.
So long snow. Here comes Talia.