brooklyn books

sunday i was lucky unlucky to sleep in - though the day was gorgeous outside for a change from this strange summer weather we’ve been unable to shake. the cold rainy days of september and if i was still in somerville i’d be singing bus stop, bus stop, but i’m not and there are no buses in my day to day but the ones i avoid when crossing the street to go to the subway, to catch a train, midafternoon to brooklyn to go to the bookfest there by borough hall.

all was glaring, dazzling, when i emerged amid the blue awnings of the various booths in the sundrenched tableau. i wandered here and there, listening vicariously to wallace shawn discuss his essays with a leggy female admirer. i caught a child sneezing on his grandfather’s head from his perch on grandad’s shoulders. they laughed and i laughed and the books were arrayed like jewels or spices: mysterious, enticing. but i’ve bought enough books to curb my appetite for a while and i was content to browse and chat a little with the purveyors until i met up with a friend and forsook the solace of solitude for company.

all too soon, we parted to find our separate paths: he to his home in prospect park, where his girlfriend awaited and i to the train to head up to greenpoint and do some work on this comic book - in truth i spend vigorous hours erasing pencil lines and watching tv series on the wii. today it was neil gaiman’s neverwhere. but usually, it’s weeds.

i searched for the g train in the heat and unfamiliar streets of a part of brooklyn i am still piecing together in my mind. i finally found the entrance and descended and read my book, the night sky, till i reached my stop - it’s a polish neighborhood, and the people in the polish movie posters look so happy. ryan buzzed me in and we chatted about this and that and then he made me a crepe and some coffee and i got to work. the sun set pinkly and characters shrieked in horror at beasties in the bbc miniseries.

“what is this? i’m not sure i approve of my intern watching such disturbing material,” he joked, since we are pretty much the same age. i laughed and kept on creating a wasteland of eraser detritus, the proof of my good work being the absence of graphite in my wake.