Morning has broken; we roll ourselves into Saturday like a couple of crepes, grounded to the down. Bed is warm, just shy of too warm, and if we keep this position, I might start to wake up. The pillow goes flip, the cool fits my cheek, and it’s like a dry water gun straight to the face, until the bed starts to feel warm again.

We’re walking to Bensonhurst today for a meeting with our DJ. Before we leave, Michael wants to watch one episode of Chappelle’s Show, but I can’t do it, I need to start this day; it is almost 10am.The sky is overcast, the color of rocks, but it’s no longer cold like New Years Eve. We walk up Union and stop at Sackett because that is what we do – we visit our parents – my mom in her bathrobe; my dad at the door before my key turns the lock. The news is on, it is too loud, but my mom talks over it with an anecdote about Martha, the woman who used to work at the Apple Bank, but doesn’t anymore. Luckily she found her on Facebook and sent her a message. (She’s always been kind to our family.)

Next stop is 3rd Street because that is what we do – we visit our parents – and Michael’s dad is in the kitchen washing his homegrown leeks, in preparation for a squash and leek soup. His mom is not home, but NPR is on, so she couldn’t have gone far, he says. We see her in her little blue car, chugging up the street, as we’re walking on down. Just some errands.

5th Avenue is hopping with brunch and people, so I return a phone call I’ve been meaning to return since last weekend. I’m tired of the Slope, it is scenery I’m too used to, and the phone call distracts me from the bagel stores and boutiques, so by the time I’m done, we’ve reached 20th Street - the quiet has come back, so has more sky, and the peace of Green-Wood is present even with the B63 stirring past. I am killing for coffee so I grab a cup from the Baked in Brooklyn store, a real gentrifier haven that appears out of nowhere. Now that I am holding a paper cup of coffee next to my man, I feel golden. I will walk anywhere. Uphill, downhill, over, across - I am sipping hot coffee in 50-degree January weather and the only thing missing is nothing.

The day unfolds and does.