Vacances
<p>It’s August and I’m sitting at my desk.</p> <p>There are so many cultural specificities to this. Mid-July, I was in France, and the polite thing to do, the solution to the problem of conversation, was to ask about vacation. Plans: where, when. Beach, mountain. Family or friends, near or far.</p> <p>It’s August and I’m in New York. It’s hot. I swim outdoors every day and on days when I don’t have a deadline, I bring a book to the public pool and read for a short while before I cycle home, eat lunch on my fire escape, and get back in front of my computer. There is a special emptiness to the city in August: your friends are gone, there are seats in restaurants, everyone hiding from the heat, the subway a metallic cool.</p> <p>There’s a beach in New York. At the end of the day on the A train, next to the commuters, are some late-to-leave beachgoers. Salt in their hair, sand in their shoes, the marks of wet fingers on their slightly damaged books…</p>
Authors: Orit Gat
Artists: Alain Séchas
Part of: TextWork
ISSN: 27269949