(written last night.)there's something absolutely unsettling about sitting on a plush, mustard-colored (and i'm talking about the nice mustard...like wes anderson mustard) couch at the hotel carlyle, knowing that the cotton cavas bag you have sitting next to you (the one you embroidered yourself with a grenade outline) is full of tupperware that you are bringing home from your 9 to 6 job.
while everyone walks by...um, including mick jagger right now...is long and lanky in cashmere and wool. they're chilled from the cold weather, but not nearly as cold as you are...
because they took a limo...
and you took the subway and spent several minutes walking a few blocks against an arctic blast.
at this particular moment, i'm feeling humbled as the sound of a big band leaks through some far off set of doors. i imagine the clientèle is tuxedoed, gowned and glittering. they tip everyone.
the doorman. the elevator man. the bellhop.
they have kind eyes, fat wallets and large luggage.
i stick out here.
...and the concierge keeps looking at me like i'm a criminal.
...as for the photo of the tulips...
well, i posted it because it puts me in a better mood.
flowers make everything better.
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