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So, I had a dream last night, and I remember so so little of it, except that I’m pretty sure it took place in New York (where you live!). I was waiting for the subway with a girl, totally forget which one. And we’re trying to get on, and there’s that moment where you’re not sure if you’re getting on the right train, but part of you just wants to get anywhere, know what I mean? And it’s really crowded so everybody’s getting off and we’re looking at eachother trying to decide if we’re gonna pile in, and someone else standing beside us asks, “Did you bring formaldehyde?” (I spelled that right on the first try) and we look at eachother again like, “No, weirdo.” So we pile on, and everyone has giant pickle jars with this sorta orange colored liquid in them, but we don’t, and the subway starts moving and we’re just standing there, holding onto the pole looking at eachother so we don’t have to look at anybody else.
That was my dream. And now I’m in work and I’m probably gonna have to stop typing any second when my boss goes in and make a big show of changing to some stupid ColdFusion programming site, though that won’t explain why I was typing so much and so frantically.
It’s been a strange week or so, Ben. These days when the summer winds down. I get quieter in the autumn, and it definitely feels like it’s in the mail. The air’s a bit cooler in the morning. A bit crisper. I mean, it’s still August in Philadelphia, so we’ve definitely got a few more days where it feels like you’re living in an armpit, but it just feels like it’s coming, you know? Like a fin on the water, which is how I’ve described an ex-girlfriend or two.
I, for one, am glad you’re not moving to L.A. Like I need any more 3 a.m. calls that are 80% silence.
CHARLIE: Yes Ben.
BEN: What color are the leaves, Charlie?