loop de loop
The first time I saw her she looked at me like that. In a coffee shop on the Lower East Side more than two years ago. She looked at me like that, as if she was reading my story, while weaving her own, literally, with a ball of yarn in her hands.
This time, there was nothing in between her hands. Yet, there had been, her own hair, woven into this braid trailing the front crown of her hairline. As I stood with her, near the coffee shop in Bushwick, the one now responsible for our serendipitous reunion – in another coffee shop, she was weaving her own story and I was reading it.
A local to this neighborhood for three years, a neighborhood upon looking around is emblazoned with liquor ads and graffiti among big horn delivery trucks. It like us, is still looping its own story. She wears hers well super well.
Coffee Shop: Supercrown