lunch with my bro.
my brother recently moved back to town. sadly, he wont sell me his bareknuckle, leaving me with the burden of yet ANOTHER custom build project (this is a disease you dont want) but it was great to see him regardless…
the wine menu looked enticing, but I just got back from the bay with the snob brim riding high on my best afternoon hat, and it was still early…
a long discussion ensued about the shit hand it is to have drawn a life in NYC, how much we both want to get out and all the reasons why we wont. Now that he’s back, it’s nice not to carry this burden of loathing all alone but there is a big part of me that feels so bad for him, he was out, I was jealous, now he’s back, and as great as it is to not have to drive for two and a half days to see him, it pretty much completely sucks.
unfortunately enough for our social outing, he got one of these infernal fucking things.
the distraction of food brought Im the operator with my pocket calculator to a succinct close, and we were right back into cursing life in the big apple, or whatever it is that the experience of living here amounts to: wanderlust, suffering, anxious scramble to find the ejector lever in a stinging, blinding cold sweat lined panic before the flat spin anchors you to your seat for those last moments of terror before passing out never to scream again, whatever.
on the walk home, I figured the highlight would be someone’s toaster threatening to burn down the cover of Physical Grafitti, however
we were both amused at the arrival of the most cliche of all NYC moments, the stuff of which makes a tourist’s trip remarkable but simply makes the locals totally jaded:
this stuff might excite the the rubes from purple mountain majesties above the fruited plain but as illustrated, the natives are trained to point at the models by three or four, imagine how old this shit gets in your thirties…
uber fun afternoon. lots (lost) of thoughts to process, but its nice, lucky even, to live near my bro again. welcome home fucker.