I should start by saying that I began this day by washing a pair of panties in the kitchen sink. It was a result of indecision: either I didn’t have enough money or I didn’t have enough time to go to Launderama. Maybe that’s beside the point.
Mark and I sat on my porch and watched the fire go. That said, the porch was the steps leading up to my apartment and the fire was in a garbage can. While we were confused, the tourists were excited, walking around gawking but moreso smiling at what they thought was “real New York.”
“How awesome! A trash can bonfire,” said one guy in a collared shirt, drinking an iced coffee through a straw and pointing even though his blonde companion was already looking. Everyone was already looking, before the fire started, even. Everyone was always looking at garbage cans. I only vaguely knew why.
