December 10, 2021 - Time could always stretch across the seasons in that way

“You go to Chinatown for tea,” she said, “not coffee.” As though anyone who went to Chinatown in search of a macchiato would make an unforgivable assault against the neighborhood, as well as the entire island of Manhattan. Two weeks later, a miracle happened: I was alone and walking on a Saturday afternoon down Essex Street toward the F Train. It was October –––– one of those days where if you could just close your eyes for a while; and just notice the wind against your face for long enough; you could convince yourself that it was a quiet and bright morning in May. Time could always stretch across the seasons in that way. She’d always say that tea was one thing and espresso was something else entirely. Not a caffeinated beverage, but an outright cultural betrayal. She enjoyed the drama. I enjoyed my cappuccino.