Let us caption this photo. I will call it “Teenage Boy Being Patient.” I was not about to go to New York without visiting that incredible nexus of taste and style and visible demonstrations of color theory in action that is Purl Soho. It is small, but every inch of the store counts, and that wall of yarn up there? That is a work of art. It was so hard to know where to start, because I wanted all of it, and then it was so hard to know when to quit. In fact, I sort of want to live upstairs at Purl, with a view of the “Eat Your Veggies” graffiti on the building next door. I would buy coffee in the East Village and then bring it home on the subway (oh, the subway! Surprise, the subway in NYC is wonderful) and then carry it home to my loft on Broome Street in Soho, made of windows and brick and filled with all my crochet blankets and maybe a bunch of expressionist art painted by my bohemian friends. That coffee would be the best coffee I’d ever had, and I would walk to Chinatown and have dumplings for dinner. Then I’d come home, crawl out onto the fire escape, and knit and knit and knit. That’s the dream.
Strawberry Fields in Central Park looks like this:
That’s pretty nice. I’m just saying. Well done, New York. Okay, back to work.