In the summer of 2014, I worked in the city. I lived in the Upper West side.
My AC-less room was on the sixth floor, inside an apartment owned by an extremely Christian Dominican woman with a parrot that was trained to pray.
My room, pre-decorated by the landlady, was covered in potpurri. The first nights there, before your aunt Ale arrived from Texas, I’d sit and stare at the picture frame of George W. Bush, which stood in the room’s only book shelf next to a giant teddy bear with a red bow on its head, and the Holy Bible.
I’d take the local train whenever I needed to do my thinking.
I found peace in the rails and the hustle bustle of mildly crowded night trains.
I’d sit in the cart and imagine that the automated female voice that announced the upcoming stops and the male voice that warned the public to “stand clear of the closing doors” were madly in love.
I went through five books that summer.
I’d just sit and people watch. Once, I noticed a woman taking out a Vince Camuto jewelry out of her brasseire when she thought no one was looking and shoving it quickly inside her purse. Her toe nails were a deep blue and I spent the rest of that train ride wondering how she could afford a nice pedicure but not her own earrings.
I saw a toddler push his father away as he walked to hold on to the “big people” pole, independently.
I picked up a habit of logging the most interesting thing I saw on the train each day on an app called Flava. Maybe you’ll find this data, maybe you’ll be curious to sift through the relics.
It was a beautiful summer. It was the summer I discovered my own two feet and how I could stand on them.
will make the end of the road seem all the more rewarding.
So far I’ve considered pulling out my hair, contemplated staying home under the covers, and have eaten lunch in Chinatown all week.
I guess you can say I’ve handled things terribly awesome.
I’ve kept going. Gloria Gaynor spoke a piece when she promised “she’d survive”. She’s morphed into an anthem for this week. I keep telling d3 that as long as I know to how to love I know, I’ll be alive.
Really, the motivation for making this project in the first place—loving—has kept me going through the thousands of attemps at making data, plot driven.
I’ve always been a story teller, now my voice takes the stage online, and the medium is bits and bytes.
I lost my keys
I found my dream dress
I took a ferry
I coded a bar chart