“If you were a soon-to-be journalism graduate in 2014, what would you do?”
I sat in quiet expectation with my legs crossed and a sheet of questions on my lap. It was my last day interning at 1 Times Square and graduation was one quarter away. I accepted the meeting request for my performance review anticipating a prescription to cure my upcoming post-graduate career woes (and a few cozy job leads). My supervisor, who was hired directly out of college and had been at the publication for two decades, glanced at the door to make sure that it was tightly shut. She stopped what she was doing, looked at me more directly than she ever had before and replied,
When I think of summer, I think of sunshine and white nail polish that gives a tempting shock of contrast to the fresh tint that the sun grants me every summer season. I think of the golden glaze that overlays everything I touch – ice cream cones, sand, BBQ ribs, breezy nights, afternoon embraces filled with warmth, and too many one-piece outfits to ever want to wear a proper outfit again.