To be honest, being in the city in the summer makes me feel like a fish out of water. While the Loving Spoonful made it seem romantic, I'm struggling to see the allure. I put on my white flowy shirts, my jean shorts, let my air hair dry into my best imitation of beachy curls- and all I feel is that I should be back home, pedaling around on my cruiser, rolling down addison on my longboard. I long for the dappled sunshine of Palo Alto, or the salty smell of Santa Cruz.
But fall. Fall will be the season of New York. When the leaves get crispy the cement skyscrapers will stand in perfect opposition. I will wear blazers and wool sweaters and I will drink hot chocolate. I'll step on the leaves with my leather boots, and I will wear suede. Yes, suede.