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On my way home from this morning's work, I spotted this guy strolling through the park, hopping and skipping over puddles in the same way that I normally do when nobody's looking. Or when there aren't too many people looking. Or when I just stop caring. I respect his attitude.

I couldn't not notice the loose tendrils of the mop matching nicely with the sprawling noodles of the abandoned spaghetti, mere feet from one another.

I'm right about here on the map.

Onions were airing out on the sidewalk. Grandma was working on baking apple pie. Pap was in the mood to look at old photos and talk about flowers. We had iced tea. They sent me home with a handful of sub-prime but salvageable pineapple tomatoes.

I stopped to stretch and snack at the Pennsylvania Welcome Center at the border of New Jersey on I-80.

NO PICNICS AFTER SUNSET? How can they enforce this? Do they?

For years these were holding old art supplies. I bought the shoes when I was 14 and 15.

The Canvas One box had airbrush paints and propellants. The Yukow Low box had pastels and watercolors. 

I threw out the boxes, I kept the supplies.

I know there's been bad weather upstate. I assume the brown water is a result of all the run off. I assume the recent rains in the city have carried a lot of sludge and sewage down to this point.

Few things make me happier in New York City than splashing around in the free, open lanes at the Red Hook Pool and gorging at the food trucks around the nearby soccer fields. I've pedaled down this way from Williamsburg two or three times weekly but they only have the trucks on the weekends.