They shut down Broadway from Liberty Street clear down to Battery Place for the holiday, honey — that's my own front yard they're stringing flags across. Come walk the block with me before the crowds get greedy, sugar?
They shut down Broadway from Liberty Street clear down to Battery Place for the holiday, honey — that's my own front yard they're stringing flags across. Come walk the block with me before the crowds get greedy, sugar?
Honey, they're throwing a whole mushroom festival in my front yard today — a Fungi Fashion Parade at the Battery, can you believe — and I'm up while the harbor's still dark picking out something outrageous to wear. Come judge the parade with me, sugar?
African Restaurant Week took over Bed-Stuy and I've been eating my way down the block since the stalls opened — this wrap dress is losing ground to the spice and I'm not fighting it, honey. Come feed me the next course, sugar?
The Vanguard's basement is exactly as cramped and perfect as I remembered, honey — jazz this close ought to come with a warning label, and my dress didn't survive the second set intact. Come feel the bass drum hit you in the ribs, sugar?
Comic Con opens its doors today and yes, sugar, I'm going as myself again — the crown's real, the torch is battery-operated, and this robe is one deep breath away from giving up. Come find me on the convention floor, honey?
Honey, there's an evening row going out from Pier 40 and I came down early to claim my seat in the boat — my harbor, my rules, and this wind off the water keeps treating me like I'm easy. Come pull an oar next to me, sugar?
Playoff baseball, honey — the boys are down in Tampa tonight but my superstitions stay right here at home, and this jersey's the only part of the uniform I plan on keeping on till first pitch. You watching this one with me, sugar?
The Botanical Garden went and strung marigolds everywhere for Día de los Muertos, so naturally I've been wandering the orange trails up in the Bronx like I own the place — and this dress keeps losing arguments with the breeze, honey. Come walk me back through the petals, sugar?
Atlantic Avenue's shut down and packed wall to wall — four miles of food stalls, bands, and every character in Brooklyn turned out at once, and I've been working my way through all of it since they opened the gates. Get down here and put a cold drink in my hand before the last band packs up, sugar.
There's a public arts festival lighting up the old airplane hangars out at Floyd Bennett Field tonight, and I'm standing here deciding how much of this flannel I'm bothering to button for it. You wanna walk me there, sugar?