"Please stop talking," she began, "you promised you wouldn’t make me sad anymore. Now shut up and fuck me like you used to."
You sat along the fire
You sold a life
You stole the light
You suffer with no one
I arrived in Donostia on Thursday evening on the first weekend of August. The summer rains had recently given way to fresh sunlight as the city bustled with life. Tourists burst forth onto the narrow ally’s lined with shops and bars, hoping to catch rays of light breaking past buildings. Only one more day separated residents and transplants from the cannon launch, signifying the start of Grande Semana. Sitting alone in Konstituzio Plaza I spent the early part of the night alternating between wine and cigarettes as the marching band rehearsed for tomorrow.
I exit the subway into the orange evening of summer and make my way up the street to my apartment. Half drunk and stumbling up the Lexington Avenue and 103rd street my mind is being bombarded with an array of emotions. Taking in my longtime neighborhood for the final time I am running the full gamut from uncontainable sentimentality to an unbridled excitement.