The dapper retiree at the Atlantic Avenue bus stop carefully transferring the contents of a pint bottle of vodka into two bottles of blue Gatorade in anticipation of some kind of festive afternoon.
Long lines of Park Slope and Heights yuppies and their spawn at every boutique ice cream parlor I passed.
The lid of your laptop has become the pedestrian bumper, home to every sort of smash-the-state community-action-now sticker. This helps flashing messages of social engagement across the gulf of tables at cafes, even though the users of said laptops are only digitally engaged at the moment of use.
A guy with the logo to the Vin Diesel/Ice Cube “XXX” films tattooed across the back of his neck right below his shaved head. That will wear well.
After deciding to sit in back of the tumbledown yard of the cafe, my book reading was interrupted by rustling in the leaves next to me. I looked over and saw a grey, furred back churning beneath the foliage. It was definitely a rodent, but I decided that I didn’t want to stick around long enough to discern whether a rat or a squirrel. I gathered my book, my iced coffee and my groceries and beat a quick retreat.
All in all, about five miles covered.