Pies, pies, pies!

Thursday 22 November 2012

Her mother made them have the parade on. Oddly enough this was the one tradition that was lost on her. There was no interest in enormous balloons being led through Manhattan. No romance about it. No excitement or desire to witness it in reality. But there they all were, holed up in that room at the Gansevoort Meatpacking. If you dare use the expression ‘holed up’ when referring to that little drop of heaven, organising oneself for Thanksgiving, with Macy’s legacy playing out before their eyes on the television. It was hard to believe that creative chaos was taking place just blocks from them. When looking out onto Hudson st it were as if life had halted on that little island. No sign of life, not even a dog walker.

The Blue Stove

Wednesday 21 November 2012

It was three years ago now that she bundled up, father in tow, ambling along to 14th street. They hopped onto a silent L train, stood holding on to the poles, swinging about with the sudden movements as it curved it's way to Graham Ave. The city seemed peaceful, the L train much quieter this Wednesday evening than the hustle and bustle of Sunday's, with unique characters and outrageous outfits, on their way to the flea. No musicians stealing your attention, no groups of girls giggling and chatting, no couples that you're never too sure if they're long time lovers or random strangers that just met and began making out because that's the kind of odd shenanigans that took place there. It was just her and him and some scattered average joes, all heading to miscellaneous destinations.