|Image: Author's own, taken in Bushwick (Brooklyn) in May 2016|
and I am swimming in
literature and gentrification.
I read A Little Life
about twenty-something artists, slumming it in an apartment in Manhattan.
And picture novelist Hari Kunzru
in East London, not playing at authenticity
yet partial to nice raclette.
Then I recall summer conversations
with a Sydney undertone, discussing
renovations and rentals.
Debating first homes and investments
in the same breath as veganism
and climate change, over piccolos.
I go hunting for bread for a Marrickville
picnic, and decide it has to be Turkish
preferably not store-bought.