Clean food.  Soft lettuces bound beside sticks of carrot in a white translucent skin that resembles some variant on rubber.  Lobster rolls, on pull-apart yellow bread with powdery tops.  My summer roll is The Hamptons.  All my summers there have rolled into one summer memory.  It’s what I miss most in New York lately.  The long drives, the sighing when we see the first gas station, signaling we’re getting closer.  The smell of grass.  The music in the car, the way we grip each other and squeal.  We have arrived. Possibility is the brass lettering nailed into the hickory oak paneled doors.  I miss my girls and our plans, our meals, our outfits and "can I try on your shoes?"  I miss the shallow moments, the unpacking in our room before we feel really settled, rushing for our cups of coffee from the general store and Starbucks.  Sitting pool side with the radio and a host of magazines, sharing the sun, lotion, and summer moments.  I miss sharing a bathroom, which I’d never think to miss.  Having to remove my hair from the drain, borrow her H2O facial cleanser, share our perfume so we’re all even more the same. 

I went out last night with two new friends who seem to have that, share those moments with each other.  And I liked them both straight away because of it.  They remind me of what it’s like to be around my sisters, my closest friends.