That was the second to last official weekend of the summer and you could see signs of it everywhere. The true fashionites, who dress for the season and not the weather, are beginning to replace their sandals with ankle boots; swimming seems less feasible than ever; responsibility is harder to ignore.
Everybody knows it’s the end of summer, even if they don’t want to admit it. I didn’t think you could still feel glum about that sort of thing if you were no longer in school.
Nevertheless, I met with pen pals, mashed up on stage with Girl Talk, was introduced to an old Manhattan dive bar, stayed out too late, woke up too early, had my expectations met by Snakes on a Plane, accidentally ended up in the Meatpacking District, and visited Brooklyn for one more rooftop barbeque, as New York presses the shutter release on its camera.