It's currently raining on a Friday night, the sort of rain that drips from the trees, makes ripples in ready-made puddles, melts on your windshield. It feels cleansing, to the earth, I imagine, to the humid air, and to me. And I am here, sat in an armchair that is kind to neither my neck nor my back. But more accurately, I linger in the space between the romantic notion of summer rain and the scene it conjures, and the memory of this day in March, when I too dreamt of summer.
On this occasion, I stumbled upon a Georgian building. Considering that my look that day was a cross between a vampire and a schoolgirl, I could not help using the building as a backdrop, for something about it reminded me of the image of a boarding school that I can never seem to get out of my head. It made me think of lazy summer afternoons; of lounging on dewy grass; of notebooks filled with doodles; of that eerie lethargy that settles over everything, living and nonliving alike, in summer.
Images and connotations aside, the standout part of this day was pizza at Spuntino, a spot situated within a charming food court reminiscent of a miniature Chelsea market. Instantly upon tasting, Spuntino wood fired mushroom pie rose to the top of my list of best pizza I've ever tasted. Just like the image of a boarding school, it's been haunting me ever since.