#lorimer street

[girlosonfilm]

Lorimer Street (2017)

Olympus Trip Junior // Fuji Superia 200 (Exp 1999)

[greenpointchinaman]

Spring Émigré (Slight Return)

A year later, under similar circumstances as the last time we had a conversation -- same bar, same respective drinks, after a show by the same musician -- I ask the émigré if there’s anything she misses from the old neighborhood.

“I really miss Bagelsmith,” she says. “You can’t get good bagels out there.”

“Yeah, we’re kind of spoiled around here.”

“Do you ever go to Peter Pan? You’re so close.”

“Nah, not really.” (I’m not sure why I lie about this, but I do.)

In town for a wedding -- I’m told this is usually the hook that imposes the first return. I can think of a couple more Class of 2015 émigrés who will be back by fall, for New York weddings. I’ll be asking them the same questions about the greener grass out West.

And after their replies, I will be anticipating the moment of reciprocation -- “So, tell me what’s new with you” -- and weighing the options available to me. One is to provide a truthful answer. Another involves holding up my (near empty) glass, excusing myself with a “be right back,” and politely vanishing from their train of thought.

[twentyfivedobson]

Memorial Lorimer St, Brooklyn

[89daysinnewyork]

Day 78 - Jun 8

Just outside our home.

[sassyobjecttimetravel-blog]

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ul07tQ1Onvo)

[greenpointchinaman]

Spring Émigrés, Pt. 2

Someone behind me says, “Have you met my friend 張?”

I turn around to face two Californians: a man to my left who I know, and a woman to my right who I don’t know. She surprises me by saying, “Yeah, we’ve met before.”

“Really?” I say.

“Yes. Really.”

“Uh...”

She laughs and then drops it. I let them continue their conversation about Northern versus Southern Cali. I’ve never lived in either place, so I just nod and try to follow. Something about what you see while driving through San Mateo; In and Out versus Shake Shack and the state of crinkle-cut fries. That kind of stuff.

It takes a while before things start to register: the mole on the right cheek, the laugh, the way she makes eye contact with people. I’ve met her twice, actually. The first time was in the Lower East Side, and the second time was in here -- we were sitting at the bar, killing time because both of us had showed up early. I bought her a drink -- I think it was a gin and tonic. You schlepped it all the way over here from the Upper West Side, I had said. You get a drink for that. She talked about leaving grad school, about having just moved here, about figuring out what to do and where to live. I said very little. A friend of mine had just spilled his guts to me about this girl a couple days before, and it felt strange to suddenly be face to face with her, talking to her about her future in New York. 

Two and a half years later, I am face to face with her again. In that time she had apparently moved to Brooklyn, found a new career...and now she’s moving back to California, done with the New York phase. 

“When are you leaving?” I ask.

“May 20.”

“That’s soon.”

“Yeah, it’s coming up fast.”

What did you find here? I want to ask her. What made you decide to go back? What are you going back to? 

I apologize to her for not having recognized her earlier. “When you get to my age,” I say, “the names and faces, they start to fade a bit.”

[emptybottlesblurrypictures]

[housesofgreenpoint]

Lorimer Street