Affectionately Friday

There's this perfect table in the French Roast cafe, just to the right of the red lipped, hair bunned hostess, where you can sip a cappucino for one at a table for two at thirty minutes to Shabbos and feel like the world stands frozen on tiptoes just waiting to count three stars. The man with a Yankee cap ties little yellow boots to the paws of his terrier and helps him over the cold feathered mountains that line Broadway in February. Snow challenges trees as they straighten their spines. Haughty. A family of four passes beneath them, slip-sliding to Shul. When did I start day-dreaming in Ashkenaz? The Lower East Side immigrant makes aliyah and breathes in the Upper West Side's elite and intellectual. We're moving up and in and north is warmer when the sentiments are Mediterranean.

My amorous intentions towards this city are completely dishonorable.