Week in Review
Monday
This morning, I stepped off the train, up two flights of stairs, and began my six block walk through SoHo. I pass the girl on the street, not much older than me, holding a sign begging for money. Stopping at the fruit stand, I hand the vendor a dollar, in exchange for which he gives me an orange and $.25. Even though the street is one-way, I look both ways before crossing. The buildings in this neighborhood are considerably shorter in stature compared to other neighborhoods in the city, which is strange, when considering that I always seem to feel smallest in this neighborhood. I stop again, this time paying a vendor $2 for an Americano. He knows me by now and doesn’t even bother asking what I would like. I tip him with some lose change. This consists of the $.25 from the fruit vendor and the change I almost gave to the young girl. Finally, I arrive at my office, say ‘hello’ to Carol, the doorwoman, to which she says, "Hello, sweetie. How are you doing?" Some time, I’d like to have a real conversation with Carol. I take the elevator to the 15th floor, sit down at my desk, and begin my day.
Tuesday
This morning, I stepped off the train, up two flights of stairs, and began my six block walk through SoHo. I pass the girl on the street, not much older than me, holding a sign begging for money. Stopping at the fruit stand, I hand the vendor a dollar, in exchange for which he gives me an orange and $.25. Even though the is street one-way, I look both ways before crossing. Continuing, I contemplate briefly the ramifications of playing hooky for the day, before crossing. I pass a group of models, three legging-clad pairs of legs that reach my hip, approximately. I stop again, this time paying a vendor $2 for an Americano. He knows me by now and doesn’t even bother asking what I would like. I tip him with some lose change. Finally, I arrive at my office, say ‘hello’ to Carol, the doorwoman, to which she says "Hello, sweetie. How are you doing?" Some time, I’d like to have a real conversation with Carol. I take the elevator to the 15th floor, sit down at my desk, and begin my day.
Wednesday
This morning, I stepped off the train, up two flights of stairs, and began my six block walk through SoHo. Stopping at the fruit stand, I hand the vendor a dollar, in exchange for which he gives me an orange and $.25. Continuing, I consider briefly the ramifications of playing hooky for the day, before crossing. Even though the street is one-way, I look both ways before crossing. The buildings in this neighborhood are considerably shorter in stature compared to other neighborhoods in the city, which is strange, when considering that I always seem to feel smallest in this neighborhood. I stop again, this time paying a vendor $2 for an Americano. He knows me by now and doesn’t even bother asking what I would like. I tip him with some lose change. Finally, I arrive at my office, say ‘hello’ to Carol, the doorwoman, to which she says "Hello, sweetie. How are you doing?" Some time, I’d like to have a real conversation with Carol. I take the elevator to the 15th floor, sit down at my desk, and begin my day.
Thursday
It is in sickness that we are compelled to recognize that we do not live alone but are chained to a being from a different realm, from whom we are worlds apart, who has no knowledge of us and by whom it is impossible to make ourselves understood: our body. Were we to meet a brigand on the road, we might perhaps succeed in making him sensible of his own personal interest if not of our plight. But to ask pity of our body is like discoursing in front of an octopus, for which our words can have no meaning than the sounds of the tides, and with which we should be appalled to find ourselves condemned to live. --Proust, Remembrance of Things Past
((In other words, eating a sushi dinner, directly after practicing a temporarily vegan diet, caused the sea to take its revenge upon my stomach. ))
Friday
This morning, I stepped off the train, up two flights of stairs, and began my six block walk through SoHo. Stopping at the fruit stand, I hand the vendor a dollar, in exchange for which he gives me an orange and $.25. Even though the street is one-way, I still look both ways before crossing. I stop again, this time paying a vendor $2 for an Americano coffee. He knows me by now and doesn’t even bother asking what I would like. I tip him with some lose change. Finally, I arrive at my office, say ‘hello’ to Carol, the doorwoman, to which she says "Hello, sweetie. How are you doing?" Some time, I’d like to have a real conversation with Carol. I take the elevator to the 15th floor, sit down at my desk, and begin my day.
This morning, I stepped off the train, up two flights of stairs, and began my six block walk through SoHo. I pass the girl on the street, not much older than me, holding a sign begging for money. Stopping at the fruit stand, I hand the vendor a dollar, in exchange for which he gives me an orange and $.25. Even though the street is one-way, I look both ways before crossing. The buildings in this neighborhood are considerably shorter in stature compared to other neighborhoods in the city, which is strange, when considering that I always seem to feel smallest in this neighborhood. I stop again, this time paying a vendor $2 for an Americano. He knows me by now and doesn’t even bother asking what I would like. I tip him with some lose change. This consists of the $.25 from the fruit vendor and the change I almost gave to the young girl. Finally, I arrive at my office, say ‘hello’ to Carol, the doorwoman, to which she says, "Hello, sweetie. How are you doing?" Some time, I’d like to have a real conversation with Carol. I take the elevator to the 15th floor, sit down at my desk, and begin my day.
Tuesday
This morning, I stepped off the train, up two flights of stairs, and began my six block walk through SoHo. I pass the girl on the street, not much older than me, holding a sign begging for money. Stopping at the fruit stand, I hand the vendor a dollar, in exchange for which he gives me an orange and $.25. Even though the is street one-way, I look both ways before crossing. Continuing, I contemplate briefly the ramifications of playing hooky for the day, before crossing. I pass a group of models, three legging-clad pairs of legs that reach my hip, approximately. I stop again, this time paying a vendor $2 for an Americano. He knows me by now and doesn’t even bother asking what I would like. I tip him with some lose change. Finally, I arrive at my office, say ‘hello’ to Carol, the doorwoman, to which she says "Hello, sweetie. How are you doing?" Some time, I’d like to have a real conversation with Carol. I take the elevator to the 15th floor, sit down at my desk, and begin my day.
Wednesday
This morning, I stepped off the train, up two flights of stairs, and began my six block walk through SoHo. Stopping at the fruit stand, I hand the vendor a dollar, in exchange for which he gives me an orange and $.25. Continuing, I consider briefly the ramifications of playing hooky for the day, before crossing. Even though the street is one-way, I look both ways before crossing. The buildings in this neighborhood are considerably shorter in stature compared to other neighborhoods in the city, which is strange, when considering that I always seem to feel smallest in this neighborhood. I stop again, this time paying a vendor $2 for an Americano. He knows me by now and doesn’t even bother asking what I would like. I tip him with some lose change. Finally, I arrive at my office, say ‘hello’ to Carol, the doorwoman, to which she says "Hello, sweetie. How are you doing?" Some time, I’d like to have a real conversation with Carol. I take the elevator to the 15th floor, sit down at my desk, and begin my day.
Thursday
It is in sickness that we are compelled to recognize that we do not live alone but are chained to a being from a different realm, from whom we are worlds apart, who has no knowledge of us and by whom it is impossible to make ourselves understood: our body. Were we to meet a brigand on the road, we might perhaps succeed in making him sensible of his own personal interest if not of our plight. But to ask pity of our body is like discoursing in front of an octopus, for which our words can have no meaning than the sounds of the tides, and with which we should be appalled to find ourselves condemned to live. --Proust, Remembrance of Things Past
((In other words, eating a sushi dinner, directly after practicing a temporarily vegan diet, caused the sea to take its revenge upon my stomach. ))
Friday
This morning, I stepped off the train, up two flights of stairs, and began my six block walk through SoHo. Stopping at the fruit stand, I hand the vendor a dollar, in exchange for which he gives me an orange and $.25. Even though the street is one-way, I still look both ways before crossing. I stop again, this time paying a vendor $2 for an Americano coffee. He knows me by now and doesn’t even bother asking what I would like. I tip him with some lose change. Finally, I arrive at my office, say ‘hello’ to Carol, the doorwoman, to which she says "Hello, sweetie. How are you doing?" Some time, I’d like to have a real conversation with Carol. I take the elevator to the 15th floor, sit down at my desk, and begin my day.
posted by Toby Shuster at 2:40 PM
2 Comments:
my fruit guy sells 5 bananas for a dollar, now that's a good deal!
I stopped at Wed. Most boring week ever.
Love,
-Luke
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