For as long as I can remember, Sunday mornings at home revolved around the newspaper. A parent here, a dog there, the contents of our two newspapers strewn across the living room. Joey laughing over "Fox Trot" until he cries. Mom and I dissecting the lifestyles sections. Daddy commenting on political this and laughing at the idiot who did that. I shouldn't be surprised that years of this ritual have left me with an intense obsession and love for the news, in all its forms, but especially in print.
But I'm not at home anymore, and newspapers cost money. But in my head I have an image of what a Sunday morning should be like for a single girl in the city. Chilling in a coffee shop, reading the paper and people watching. Or,
cozy in pajamas, reading the Sunday paper in bed, with a steaming cup of tea. So I took my must-be movie-made image out of my head, and into real life today.
It was nice. Different, but nice.
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