April Dispatch

🌷

They have the news on at the Times Square Dave & Busters.

A woman wearing striped fingerless gloves and a leather miniskirt plays DDR while images of makeshift Ukrainian tent hospitals flash around her.

The whole thing feels like a deleted scene from Southland Tales.

I order a cocktail called the Dangerous Waters Island Punch.

It is bright blue, but there is a slice of real pineapple inside.

I taste the sugar more than the alcohol.

That feels like the correct ratio in a place like this.

~🐇~

I walk around an area where I once spent a lot of time. I no longer spend a lot of time there. It is funny that in a giant place like New York City, whole entire areas can become tied to specific individuals. Yet one by one, it happens. Still, I advance forward in this land mine city. The key is to remember Eurydice.

~🐇~

For about three weeks or so in February, the subways were excessively violent. Going anywhere felt dangerous. I thought to myself how absurd it would be if someone pushed me onto the tracks on my way to the blind screening series at the Roxy Cinema. I took the train anyways, and I survived. The film was a 35 mm English dub of a rare French noir. The back half of the physical film was damaged, but it lent itself to the experience. See? I refuse to live in fear.

~🐇~

In graduate school everyone loves the word “metonymic,” but I think they’ve forgotten what it means. I deliver an impassioned monologue to my fellow students of literature. I have to remind them: a shadow is actually not related to the sun metonymically. There are plenty more sources of light.