We need to clear something up. Yesterday, I mentioned a cleaning lady at my office and remarked that I “liked” it that her first language is English, or at least that it’s the language she is most comfortable speaking while knowing she will be mostly understood. It has come to my attention that on its own, this quote could be used against me in my future, in a Social Network kind of lawsuit perhaps, where my friends betray me for my vast wealth. “She spoke English,” Mr. DeNardi wrote in his blog… in 2022… “which makes me think it is her native language. I like that,” Mr. DeNardi wrote from the comfort of his keyboard. He “liked” that. Mr. DeNardi, is it true that during this time, you owned a pullover sweatshirt with a large American flag stitched prominently across the chest?
And so on, and so forth. Future lawyers and betrayers: I’m in the land of umlauts here. When I hear the sweet, silky sounds of the King’s, it is like a symphony to these ears. The cleaning lady and I became kindred spirits, orderly phantoms in the kafkaesque land of Deutsche Corporate Bureaucracy. Until she thought I didn’t trust her alone with my things for only 2 minutes but that’s besides the point.
Anyway, the photo was taken on the train home from work, with the street lights outside streaking across the frame. With the black and white it kind of reminded me of something Vivian Maier could have taken, but I guess you could say that about any reflection-picture in black and white. What am I, original? We already addressed that.
See you tomorrow.
Nick
Nick Denardi 