Aloha From Chelsea! (Chelsea-ish. Whatever.)

That my Google ads are “Procrastination” and “How to Kill Procrastination” is really too much. I’ve been debating the fate of McBickle, since she is so clearly half-crouched in a corner with only one eye open these days, but I have come to the decision that she will not be put out of her misery. If only because I finally saw this again:

But it was 66 degrees yesterday when I saw it. Because it is actually a framed photo in a place that has changed my life over these past 10 years:

I walked down 28^th Street yesterday. It’s pretty much the only remaining street of the flower district. And it begins on 7^th Avenue with these palm trees…OR DIE.

Last night I saw a woman with perfectly drawn, perfectly horizontal eyebrows. Like worms with rigor mortis. She looked Brazilian. She was standing behind the sales counter at Sephora with a phone in her hand and an orange tan on her face. Beauty—she sells beauty.

This morning I saw a woman I know on the N train. We both had wet hair. We were a few seats away from each other and talked a little on what was a very quiet but semi-full car. Then she read a book and I zoned out to NPR podcasts (I Know). But I felt her there and negotiated the fine line of not looking at her for most of the rest of the ride while still feeling tied to her by thread of recognition. Don’t. Look. But do! Do look! You know her! Christ. Close your eyes. Listen to your iPod. Look at her! Look!

I closed my eyes.

Then I looked at her.