Red Sauce

Scrolling past so many half naked people on Instagram and all I can think about is how I havent taken my red puffer off in 5 days if I’m being modest, eleven days if I’m being honest. If you keep pulling on the zipper you can zip your entire face up and block out the world. Depends on the wind chill or maybe just the kind of day you’re having. I wrote a shitty poem waiting for the J train on the only cold night in February I remember having this year do you want to read it? Someone on this train has Italian takeout and its such an overpowering smell I feel like Im beginning to see it in the air. Red and smoky looking. Makes me think about how I’ve never once felt comfortable in a soho house, how All I know how to do there is order meatballs and gently walk away from conversations.

If one more person tells me I should “date a guy in finance” I might just face plant directly into my plate of red sauce do you dare me? Instead Im like “blah blah blah Eskimo sisters with Natalie Portman blah blah” which isn’t a lie but I immediately regret mentioning. Even before the sound of her last name leaves my lips. Tonight I’d rather be anywhere else but if I get to choose maybe we’re back at the commodore. Even on that one night when we slowly realized the entire back patio was covered in yellow green caterpillars. The familiar but overwhelming feeling of being unprepared for one or several hundred unexpected guests. The slow panic of showing up for a quiet coffee’s metamorphosis into bottomless brunch.