Sleep on a terrible bed. Tight all over. Have a little bit of breakfast, drive through the Holland Tunnel and into The City (trivia tidbit: we stayed at the hotel in Jersey City where 50 Cent was shot). Park. Start wandering. A gallery here. A shop there. A contemporary furniture store. I'm just absorbing the feel of The Village. Didn't want to go in...just wanted to feel. (No, it wasn't the Fear in Italy Thing.) Just wanted to soak up the people on the street, the feel of the air, the energy. Rather calm, but very alive, energy. Wander, wander, wander. A little jewelry. A few shoes.
And then I see. Yellow banner, pink writing. Flapping in the Boxing Day wind. Catherine was waving at me. Beckoning me. So I responded. In a little bit of a daze, I walked across the street. Pretty yellow-green walls glowing. Off-white skirts, pants, shrugs, sweaters, wraps. She wasn't open, but really, it was just fine with me to see it. Made my day. Still makes me smile to think about it.
And that's what I get in The Village. But that's not why I'm moving to New York. I'm moving to New York because, like They say, it's just so alive.
Badass doesn't have an expiration date. But bad fashion and Go-Gurts do.
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