High arches, full quivers

Last Year at Marienbad

Drove uptown Saturday morning, then turned our gaze down, where we dined on avocado toast and fruit salad with mint at Cafe Gitane, washed it down with an iced cardamom coffee from Hampton Chutney, bought boots and bloomers, and sat for a Bloody Mary with Shirah under the faded black and white awning of the Bowery Hotel veranda. Marble stairs and rock crystal chandeliers and plush corridors pulls the silver threads of my omnipresent longing for imagined repose with my guitar player. Hotel films to quell the longing 'til we stay at the Tribeca Grand: The Silence, The Shining, Last Year at Marienbad, Lost in Translation, Grand Hotel, le petit Hotel Chevalier, Bay of Angels, Eva.

With your sheets like metal and your belt like lace

the Tribeca Grand, where I would like to live

Glass Tears, Man Ray 1932

I like the idea of these pillowcases rumpled against a monochromatic bed on a Sunday morning, with the record player whirling lazily and near-silent in the kitchen, as KP plays his acoustic as Coral listens intently. The bedroom floor will be covered with discarded sections from the Times and a round of magazines and a stack of books and the coffee will flow and the Kobo Grapefruite e Tabaco will burn. I'll briefly daydream about this vision as I sit in class on Sunday.