Walked the desolate streets of Cobble Hill this morning without my traditional sense, in the city on a holiday weekend, that I have been left behind. Maybe I am spiritually growing; somehow more serene. Or maybe it’s because, as I just realized, this is not my traditional left behind holiday. That’s more Memorial Day.
Labor Day, I’ve on the other hand calculated, I have not been in New York since two thousand and four. And even then, I went to the Hamptons for all or part of the weekend. Last time I was here before that — and actually IN the city — was 1990!
Thus it was not annoying to me to hear the whiny-voiced woman, sounding like an unredeemed Fran Drescher, bitch to her husband while walking alongside one of the most spectacular Lower Manhattan views ever conjured (one only recently open to the public), “It’s not even byootyfull heah.”
Absence, I guess, has made me tolerant.
I have not (yet) had it up to heah.