The train windows are so absurdly grubby that the dirt makes a design in its own right.
What on earth is there to do on the train? Read The Times, The New Yorker, a book, knit, evesdrop on stupendously banal cell phone conversations.
Look out of the grubby window at Queens
and the train yards outside Penn Station.
Back in the city
the trees are almost popping in Union Square
where there are lots of spring flowers for sale
and I met a very strange woman who wanted to engage me in a very long conversation about England and dogs, and it dawned on me slowly that she was quite, quite mad, so I felt sorry for her and wanted to escape at the same time ....
This morning I spied this tasteful bouquet in a shuttered gallery and came home to
the disaster that is our dining table as tax time approaches.... (photo inspired by Janelle's ongoing kitchen board).
