A Walk in The Neighborhood:
7 AM - Trench over a silk slip, flip-flops on. Morning calls became podcasts, old habits linger, but she’s still onto something new. Welcome to Easton Marley.
11 AM - Bikini on, long sleeve in her bag, just in case. Quick bodega stop (yes, still a bodega - NY habits die hard) for a non-negotiable beverage. Outside, two Metro workers, mid-ice cream. “Breakfast,” one grinned. She lingers, chats, debates the merits of a mid-day cone. A Cola in hand, she’s off - somewhere between overdressed and underdressed, exactly as she likes it.
1 PM - She's ready to stretch out in the sun, an ice-cold Cola sweating in her hand, the first sip hitting just right. Her screen glows with 1stDibs listings - Italian marble tables, vintage leather chairs, all wildly overpriced and entirely unnecessary. Her boyfriend is glued to his phone, firing off emails, lost in his own world. She exhales, suddenly remembering the dry cleaning she meant to pick up days ago. With a final sip, she peels herself up - time to get dressed, again.
2:30 PM - Her grandma’s vintage day planner was a lifeline - filled with notes, reminders, and details that made all the difference. She does the same, emulating a woman who moved gracefully and purposefully. Monday’s edits can wait, but the tailor’s number? That’s in there too. Hopefully, he worked his magic on that $50 Donna Karan find. Her grandma’s photo rests perfectly on her bedside, a quiet reminder of the woman who did it all - and did it well. She gives it a second glance and sets out for a little walk.
6 PM - Her spot. Family-owned, effortless, always right. She usually takes the sushi bar solo, but tonight, her best friend slides in across from her. A cold Sapporo hits the table, followed by halibut and The Jenny Roll - off-menu, always perfect.
8 PM - One Sapporo, a sake, and a ginger tea later, what was meant to be a quick dinner unraveled into hours of laughter... Realizing they never ordered the Uber. With time to kill, they snap a fit pic destined for the camera roll, not the feed. A cigarette flickers to life - last year’s resolution, casually ignored.
10:30 PM - Minimalist isn’t in her vocabulary, and her boyfriend wouldn’t change a thing. She’s packing for a Tuesday flight, swapping one look to another, a fur pillbox hat casually perched on her head. He walks in, perfectly between outfits leans against the doorframe - this moment, this look, too good not to capture.
The next morning - Sunday, finally. A full reset - cleaning her space, clearing the energy, and dealing with all the fucking clothes from yesterday. John Mayer hums, incense lingers, windows cracked just enough. Saturday was spent on foot, weaving through her neighborhood checking off tasks, seeing the people she loves, exchanging laughs with strangers she somehow already knows. Not once did she have to venture further than her own block and she wouldn’t trade that for the world.