Pour occuper un dimanche automnal qui s'annonce radieux, Sarah et moi mettons le cap sur Roosevelt island. It is a small island in length on the East River, all pressed against her older sister Manhattan. It is spanned by the Queensborough Bridge and can be reached by a cable car that offers a rather nice view over the forest of skyscrapers. But beware, "it's not an attraction." The buildings that house its inhabitants are quite ugly and the sound of the nearby FDR does not offer a framework a priori very rustic. And yet, walk to cherry red with autumn leaves along the shoreline, is home to some quiet fishing and other small furry inhabitants. 
A fig and a few dozen sentences gaga "oh look so cute you should find him a name and with his oh so cute ptites putty" later, we ask ourselves in the chairs of the Starbucks on the island ( it is nevertheless still in New York so we must not mess, there's a Starbucks), a small coffee and discussion of girls on the armrest.
Night falls early, and the colored sky suddenly the clouds a soft pink, and engulfed all of Manhattan with a supernatural fire. Quick quick, and we take the cable car, nose pressed to the tile, Lapp this view, the view ... oh
Night falls early, and the colored sky suddenly the clouds a soft pink, and engulfed all of Manhattan with a supernatural fire. Quick quick, and we take the cable car, nose pressed to the tile, Lapp this view, the view ... oh
Waiting emerged misty Sunday evening under the golden hues of the setting sun, and ending this week has closed on a tender back to normal. 
0 comments:
Post a Comment