I struggled to find a narrative that might unite these photos, so instead, I’ve decided to devote a sentence or two to each one. This enables me to have reverence for each experience, and hopefully colors the photo for readers, as well. The point is not to post something good, but rather to post anything at all.

What reverent pinks in this ultra-curated photo–S sent me a postcard from Vienna years ago that mentioned that the German word for whipped cream is “schlag.” And indeed, I’ve eaten plenty of it, and have been grateful for the fact that amidst all of these baroque desserts, it is largely unsweetened. 

Wiener Blut, the Falco bar of my dreams. Only better than the multiple Helles consumed were the bartender’s gifts of allowing J and I to control the Spotify (that is, until Eurotrash reigned too supreme) and the promise of an exciting life after 50.

Masked candles and Hop Wtr (an MBA relic) over drinks with C, C, and I, prior to attending my very first Finkelfest. How grateful I am for this apartment, which gives me the ability to host again.

I’d saved an Instagram photo of a particularly kawaii desk set-up–and lo and behold, have been able to manifest it. And more than that, a small but mighty feat, I drilled these faux-lucite shelves into the wall myself. As my mother would say, paciencia!

F’s watch wasn’t a Rolex, but his ambition conveyed to me that that was the kind of thing that he would someday want. Fancy car, fancy girlfriend. I made sure to return it to him.

C and I visited Saint Vitus Cathedral in Prague. I had to go on account of the St. Vitus bar in Greenpoint, which I’ve never actually been to. The cathedral had high, Gothic arches.

I’m not a Christian but I have a thing for Catholic ephemera. Eastern Europe, and Vienna, the bridge to the Western world, offers plenty of it. 

The sweetest little orchid, “admirably self contained,” as my grandmother once wrote, adorning the RegioJet bathroom en route from Brno to Vienna.

A classic, masked glass of Grüner Veltliner, amidst a well-placed mess of postcards. These kinds of photos have started to bore me. C drank a Coca-Cola.