New York

For the love of Vespa

Seven years ago, when I first saw that pastel pink Vespa (a princess in her own right) in the display window of a shop downtown, I was instantly in love. How could I not be? Her cupcake pink hue, her gleaming chrome, her style – I had to have her. And every opportunity I got, I would go down and stare at that little princess, envisioning myself atop her, with a smile that could only be accented by Marilyn red lipstick, and a rosy glow on my wind-flushed cheeks. The logistics of my commute, however, just didn’t work for a Vespa lifestyle. And soon, my pink princess was sold. Fast forward a few years and the love for the Vespa hit me again, smack hard in the face. Big Ring and I were in Nice at the time, checking out an Italian festival. While his eyes were drawn to the shiny …

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Then and now

What I was doing 10 years ago: I was being startled awake by the phone ringing just before 7 a.m.. I remember thinking who the hell was calling that early as I stuffed my head under a pillow to muffle the sound. It was my moms. A minute later my big-big brother, who I lived with at the time, was banging on my bedroom door. I can still hear his voice. “Kate! Kate! You got to get up! You got to see this!”  The Twin Towers were on fire. Two planes had crashed through them. The world as we knew it would never be the same again. I couldn’t pull my eyes away. Not two weeks prior I had been in New York, I had got pictures of the towers, I had listened intently as a girlfriend of mine had pointed high up and told me the story of her …

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