This morning we sat down for breakfast and I felt like I was in New Orleans, the room open, spacious and sunny with ornate corners and smooth white tablecloths. It was half full, the only other tables crowded with serious-looking men talking business as they sipped their coffee and ate their eggs.
The tactile pleasures of good food and delicate clothing have become almost entirely foreign to me and I find myself admiring my meals and simply wandering through stores, touching everything between my thumb and forefinger. If I could, I would dress like a 1940s businessman every day- a well cut suit and conspicuous cuff links.
We’ve been drinking since breakfast and it makes the entire day feel unreal- velvety and smooth and silly. Breakfast drinks, lunch drinks, afternoon drinks. I’m wearing a dark green dress to dinner tonight and by now my hair is so long it almost kisses my waist and it’s clear that the only way to survive living in New York is to constantly have the means to leave it behind.
