It’s Sunday night. The sun has set. And I seem to have squandered my weekend.
‘Treasure of the Sierra Madre’ is paused on the DVD player. Dinner (mixed greens with pine nuts, sunflower seeds, tofu, garbonzo beans, and a hard boiled egg) is gone. I made the requisite paternal communique. I spent time in Central Park with The Kid. I walked the well-worn route from the Upper West to Hell’s Kitchen. I brunched at the Essex House. And I rode to the Little Red Lighthouse and back.
Still, what do I have to show for myself? What do I have to show for my weekend?
Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow is the longest of the year.
The better to squander, My Dear.