I’m sitting in my friend’s studio in Chinatown. The window is halfway open, rain pours down outside. The typical, heavy smell of a wet New York comes in beside me. It should really be summer by now, but we skipped spring this year.

My body is heavy. Tired, even though I sleep nine hours every night. Bought myself another cup of coffee around the corner from Elizabeth Street Garden. I sat on a small black metal chair, looking at the green trees that felt misplaced among the brick buildings. My thoughts drifted back to Brazil, where I swam in a warm, greenish sea and sat on the back of his motorcycle while he guided us through the streets of São Paulo.

Now I’m sitting here on a black office chair, looking at the photographs I took. (rest in link)

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