This morning I found myself walking down Seventh Avenue in Brooklyn on my way to the F train as the sun came up over the buildings. Some shop keepers tipped buckets of soapy water onto the sidewalk. Others unloaded fresh bread and bagels into their stores. The streets were quiet. No birds chirping. No one running. No cars.
So I walked in the street at sunrise.
I was listening to Ben Gibbard’s solo songs off of the album Home. Feeding into my whiny emo self.
On the train, before we went back underground, the sun hit us straight on. The passengers, all pretty much asleep, all made a collective groan.
When I got to Paragraph, there was no Thumbsucker, some random person was in my cubicle by the window and there was a protest going on outside.
I tucked away in one of the vacant cold spots in the room and dove into my Hunger Mountain edits on Part One: Dick of ALPHA HOUSE.
Good writing morning with a healthy does of self-doubt and fear.
A happy emo morning.