guffawing about west village

Saturday afternoon on the island of Manhattan, and Amelia and I had not a care in the world. 18,000 steps later, we walked from home in Financial District on the West Side Highway to reach Rhythm Zero, where we stood in a not ungodly line and were asked—three times—why we were standing in line (blackberry pie matcha), followed by, “is matcha even that good?”

Amelia and I saw this incredibly human looking Afghan hound. I’d never seen a dog like that before. When we went to enjoy our matcha in our favorite hidden garden spot in West Village, the DOG and its 73-year-old owner happened to come. The dog’s name was Hashish. I swear Hashish was a human now trapped in a dog’s body, like Hashish absolutely knows something we didn’t. Hashish also sneezed on Amelia which sent me into oblivion.

Amelia and I were later laughing so hard about Hashish that a random old man stopped us and asked if we were high because we were laughing so hard. No, we were just laughing about Hashish. The cherry on top of the day was that on our walk back, we were laughing so hard (and I guess loudly) that some random car that drove by literally fake-laughed to mock us. Which made us laugh harder. Can’t ruin our mood even if you tried. Two peas in pod ahh.