I’ve been holding tight this week to this quote found in Women Who Run With the Wolves…
I hope you will go out and let stories, that is life, happen to you, and that you will work with these stories… water them with your blood and tears and your laughter till they bloom, till you yourself burst into bloom.
And, inevitably, thankful to live in a city where stories pour into your conscious as soon as you walk out your front door, and thus also thankful that I’ve never been one to walk around with headphones in my ears.
Just today, going to get a Father’s Day card, the following unfolded:
– A new, unconfirmed suspiscion that “local” ramen establishment is actually sourcing chicken from a massive fried chicken empire (more to come)
– My own delight and curiousity that the owner of the gift shop, always rather cold and seemingly frustrated, seemed to come alive when in the presence of the UPS man; and him, in hers. (more, likely ficticious, maybe to come)
– A rather panicked jewelry store owner came out of her shop yelling down the sidewalk, pointing towards a girl in a conspicious pink skirt. The smalltown-gossip in me hoped maybe it was because of petty, pretty theft but alas, she simply left her debit card. “Miss!” she cried out, trying to get said girl’s attention. A very tall man then appeared and rose to the task. “I’ll catch her,” he said, before repeating in a low, loud barotone, “Miss in the PINK skirt! MISS IN THE PINK SKIRT!!” Said miss walked intently faster. Me, on bike and noticeably not a barotone, got involved in the chase. When she turned a corner swiftly, I cut her off on my bike. She looked alarmed. “Hi, um… you left your debit card at the jewelry shop.” “Oh my god! I thought there was a man after me!” “No,” I comforted her. “And also, I like your skirt.”
Thank you, New York, for never being boring. And for always enticing me to keep up, in so many words.
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