“New York Woman” — three small words that tell a big story.
A story I hoped to embody, but might never get the chance. The words were embroidered on a T-shirt I saw at Out of the Closet, the secondhand store in the Boerum Hill neighborhood in Brooklyn, last week but opted not to buy simply because I ran out of steam, and now, I regret everything.
Retracing my steps, I rummage through the rack. Someone else beat me to it. Probably another local mother. Maybe Maggie Gyllenhaal.
And so it goes, as I schlep up and down Atlantic Avenue in early September ahead of my kids’ Sept. 8 return date, looking
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