My neighborhood’s soundtrack is amazing. There’s Latin music when I get off the subway at 3am, pouring out of this bizarre nightclub that I’m pretty sure became a strip club, but I haven’t been in there since they changed their name to something more risque than the former name, so I can’t be sure. All I know is that any establishment that puts a sign like this on its door can’t be bad:
I thanked my lucky stars that night that I had enough Spanish vocabulary left in my brain to translate that sign.
As much as I love my neighborhood and my infested apartment (no really, I don’t mind the company), at some point in my life, I really want to live on the road. Whether as an author on a book tour with no one to read to, or as a female Eddie Vedder (the ideal option), or most likely, trekkin’ it in an RV with my hippie beau like Catherine Keener in Into the Wild (which put me in a deep depression for at least a week).
Yeah, I could live like that.