Date: 2010-08-22, 9:18PM EDT
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You were my realtor for a hot Tuesday in July (I mean hot in both a ‘temperature’ and a ‘jersey shore’ kind of hot). I was the girl from Manhattan who is currently paying too much in rent. I like to think you’re from Brooklyn, because you were wearing skinny jeans, a vest, and shoes that looked like Toms, if Toms made leather business casual shoes. Your tee-shirt was the color of something organic (like rocks) and worked well with your eyes, but you wouldn’t identify your ‘hood. My friends keep telling me this probably means you’re from Queens. I’m okay with that. I was wearing all black, from my hair tie to my heels, and maybe you remember I kept reapplying my lip balm. We walked around Williamsburg and Greenpoint, you told me where to go for the best coffee and tacos, and you showed me some really shitty apartments. I know I wasn’t dressed like I could ever fit into BK, and no, I probably won’t move there. But I listen to Florence and the Machine (and only the songs about happiness and sex, not the ones where she turns into a wolf and eats men), and I’ve been to a Beacon’s Closet, and I really like vegan bakeries. I only have your work email – I don’t want to use it because I don’t want you to be my realtor. But if the mood ever hits you, we should grab a beer in a bar in Billysburg. I’ll make the trip for you.
Submitted by therewasagirl
