Last Friday was one of the coldest days in recent memory (which isn’t saying very much at all, frankly).
Of course, being such a blistering and unnatural day to be anywhere other than the the warm confines bedding, An Rong needed to come back to the city and get his photo framed for an art contest somewhere in Long Island. I know what you’re thinking. Who the hell goes to Long Island any way? I couldn’t agree more. So instead of roughing it out for 2 hours in the cold, I went to the school library (we have nice sofas there). Art school students never read anyway, so it’s genuinely quiet inside - not to mention cosy.
Think back when to when you were three years old, 6 inches of alabaster dusted wool lay thick on the ground: You’re in the family den, the embers in the fireplace still smoldering and warm, and your mother held you close to her bosom. You feel the warmth through the fabric on her chest, the faint drum of her heart beating…
Not like that at all.
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