Shortly after, I started spiraling down the interwebs, in search of a vinyl version of the EP. On my journey, I noticed Emily King was coming to Atlanta soon for a show at Variety Playhouse. I saw her at this theater years ago, and it was my first time going solo to a concert, so I have fond memories of the experience.
I considered going again (solo) but then I saw she was coming to the Apollo Theater in NYC. A few minutes later I sent a text to J: "Hey! Wanna go to New York next week?" to which he replied, "Lol ok."
I had been mentally itching for a trip to the city all year, but it never felt like the right time. After a quick google search, I found $200 roundtrip tickets for the weekend of her performance, which means the right time was clearly presenting itself. Won't He do it?!
And so, I reconciled our budget to work in an impromptu getaway. Exactly one week later, we flew into Laguardia Airport for a whirlwind weekend in the city that never sleeps.
These are our stories.
In iPhone photos.
Emily King's EP Seven is (ironically) seven years old, and it still serves as a go-to when I need some mellow music to get me through the workday.
I'm sharing it here on this gloomy, rainy Thursday afternoon because it matches the vibe.
photo source »»
Never in my wildest dreams would I have planned to write a post like this: a thinkpiece, a soapboxy saga on the wonders of not washing my hair. Yet, here I am, ready to wax lyrical about the topic.
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