It’s not easy to forget you’re not rich when you live in New York, and the only way to have a quality of life that doesn’t slowly kill your soul is to have a trust fund or have otherwise come into a whole lot of money. (I’m not saying you can’t live well, and enjoy yourself, without being rich here; I’m just saying it will slowly kill your soul no matter how much fun you think you’re having with your 4 roommates in Brooklyn.) But in general, I try not to think about how much my soul is dying every day.
Southport, CT makes it impossible to forget you’re not rich. The houses are giant, the people are mainly white, and the guy next to you on the train is wearing a Trump hat–which, as much as you want to believe it’s somehow being worn ironically, it’s not.
I had an excellent time on my visit to this quaint little seaside town, and I found some great deals at the annual book and record sale at the town’s library, and I think it was about 2 degrees cooler there than in the sweltering city of New York–though once the temperature climbs above 94 it hardly makes a difference.
Still, it made me a little sad to have it so blatantly shoved in my face that there are rich people all over who would rather support a human being who hardly ever acts in humanity’s best interest than possibly consider putting a woman into office.