i recently discovered that the lobby of the greenwich hotel (as well as the lobby of really any boutique downtown hotel worth its weight in distracted, disinterested, too cool for school let alone giving any fucks whether or not you “belong” there strategic foolery) is actually just an extremely tidy public living room with impeccable ambience, complimentary newspapers, and password-less wifi. pro tip = enter through locanda verde, act like you own the place, park it on some velvet, people watch to infinity, eavesdrop and beyond.
work is important in that way, i guess. it can be, on its best and oddest days, a reminder that, if we’re lucky, we can have some control over our lives, our own little stories, that we can be willful and brave and self-possessed. i still wish, of course, that i could be lazy and shiftless, independently wealthy and obliged to no one’s clock but my own. but as a way of measuring time and experience, work is useful, alternately heartening and frustrating.