If cyberspace is where you go on when you’re on the phone, where do you go when you’re reading a book? I’m hoping there’s a word for this precious state that isn’t a graceless neologism.
A love letter
Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn is Sim City, and I am God. It is the closest neighborhood expression of self I can imagine. The canal. Halcyon. The writers tapping in every cafe. The old Italians playing bocce. The brownstones. The bridges. Sparkys pub. Sahadis grocers. Caputos bakery. Staublitz butchers, with their coveted I [heart] my butcher baby doll tees in the window.
—Pull yourself together and stop drooling, woman!
Sorry. That is all.