The city that didn’t sleep.

by The Lingernots

We went to New York for a few days, to feel our heartbeats hit to the cadence of golden skinned gum smacking girls with golden hoop earrings and sharp red nails, and to the walk of thin white boys enveloped in tweeds and wools…The city is an immense, almost catastrophic puzzle of jolie-laide, everyone is beautiful.. not like LA where everyone is pretty. Polish women sell little bags of oranges under icy wet bridges and tall girls with endless limbs float through the streets and they don’t look cold.


People are just always outside, people eating, people yelling, people laughing, people snapping gum, people snapping pictures, people posing for photos, a foot kicked back on a shop facade at 4am talking about the news, faded red hair and long fur coats doing interviews in between bites of steaming food at the bagel smith. Girls that look equine in spandex suits dancing to music in all night pour-houses, cab rides, calling cars, car crashes and car horns, metro rides and the helpless sway of rush hour.. The non-chalance of bodies crushing each other in the trains, which empty out as quickly as they filled up…


Velvet clad doormen reading Krishnamurti on the tufted banquet at the hidden lounge under the Chelsea Inn, where lush fruit falls languidly on the bar from their pewter trays and legs are arched from high black heels, and little white teeth shine against dark red lipstick, and the bartender is graceful and calm in his orchestra of waitresses and glassware and patrons


Climbing upstairs to private bars, tiptoeing down stairs to secret clubs, running into dive bars and running out of crowded bars.. Glasses of champagne that refuse to be empty, and nights so cold they feel like the stars are simply shards of ice about to rain on your shoulders..

Brooklyn breakfasts with warm honeyed soul food, purple potato cakes and mapley carrots, big fluffy salted butter biscuits and endless eggs and blueberry pancakes blanketing antique mismatched plates, with Bowie singing on the stereo about the prettiest stars…


Momlets at the Cafe Argentino (Momlets are omelets that are super simple and taste better than any fancy breakfast ever) and walking and talking near haunted burned down buildings, talking about djins and genies and ghosts we’ve met, coffees in hallway sized coffee shops listening to 70’s party jams where everyone was stone faced staring into lap top lights..

NY was cool, it was exciting like a weekend lover you meet in a dark bar and I’ll dream about it over and over again and when I come back, it will be completely different, as these sorts of things always are, in the best ways.