Carrie A. Laski

If only you weren’t wearing gloves, then it would better because touching is better than most things.

A week goes by with a Thanks, Darling, Brunch Was Great Hug, an It’s My Roommate’s Birthday, Happy Birthday! Hug, and a late-night, post-study-sesh Get Home Safe Hug. They’re all nice, quick yet firm, but you forget them easily like a meal you’ve had too many times.

Were you holding my hand? I can’t remember. I do remember that the rain never stopped, so we sat under ancient crown moldings while the thunderstorm crashed in and pelted the city with a fury not seen in decades.

Farmtasy (n): The somewhat irrational obsession with meeting the love of your life between the months of September and November at a farmer’s market, orchard, or community vegetable garden.

It never roars, bites, kicks, snarls, or commands. It only drifts.

The first step to having a summer worthy of the femme Fitzgerald is to have endless free time because you never know when you will need to make an appearance at a backyard soiree or skip town for a three-day bender.