September has been something to endure. And that’s being cheerful about it.
When the gate’s open, I step in for a few shots.
I keep meaning to just ask someone if I can come in.
I’d like to get shots of all of it before I move.
Crazy Sign Person went into re-runs.
I remember when summer meant marigolds
Speaking of memory, the night depository is a relic now, right?
Returning from the bank in the early morning, I saw an apple on the sidewalk.
Then I went out to Port Jefferson. I always walk to the LIRR now as well. My legs are cheaper and still more reliable than the subway.
Down the drain and on the street.
Hot Pink. Not the ideal way to keep Victoria’s Secret.
The rest of July.
Old skewl truck in Port Jefferson.
He’s usually out there playing when I walk by in the daylight.
These mimosas have yet to fall to the disease wiping them out.
They remind me of my maternal grandparents
Little did they know, they were about to move again.
The blimp was out filming the golf tournament that was clogging my trains with obnoxious drunk fratboys and former fratboys.
(That spot annoys the shit out of me, yet I’m not going to fix it.)
I grew up with these all around.
These were in a garden approaching Atlantic Ave. & Flatbush Ave. I had to look twice to believe what I was seeing.
The gardens on Carroll St. in Carroll Gardens really do remind me of suburbia.
Typical of MTA construction, it’s going to take so long to complete, they changed all the permanent signage on the whole line.
This however, is not part of what they’re going to be fixing.
The non-event parts of June.
The strange sign person was feelin groovy.
Twitter was completely useless. Before Iran at least.
This still claimed not to be a urinal. The evidence still claimed otherwise.
There was honeysuckle in Port Jefferson.
There was an unexpected local view of the Empire State Building.
There were many trips to Port Jefferson to do nasty work.