Hello. I just got back from a mediocre chicken caesar salad from the Chelsea Market. Along the way I deep thought: Puppy Windows. There is a window full of puppies on Sixth Avenue. Puppy windows are like cheating. These puppies are cute, achingly cute. So cute ones brain kind of gets bogged down in cute molasses and all questions of morality suffocate in this viscous substance before gurgling to consciousnesses. This is like contemplating an affair. As soon as you go one step further, as soon as you pull open the door with the jingle on its handle, you are assaulted by the smell of animal pee and dog food, by the cacophonous yelp of desperate dogs and by the heartbreaking reality whose faux front is all puppy dogs and cute overload. Moral: Cheating don't do it. Look at the puppies but don't go inside.
You can't go inside but you can't stay outside either. It's raining balls in Chelsea and the rain supersaturates whatever song is on your iPhone with meaning and an unusually strong dose of melancholy. My favorite songs to listen to in the rain: