it’s way past the cinematic rom-com sparks phase; now it’s just that quiet, subterranean loyalty silently passing the aux on a ninety-minute mta detour, hoarding queens night market spots, and collectively side-eying manhattan.
four years deep and the G train is basically their trauma-bonded third wheel. splitting the difference between bushwick rooftop pretension and quiet astoria stoops shouldn't actually work this long, but here they are.
But let's talk about the visual terrorism Sarah and Paul are committing on my screen right now. Their face cards are doing incredibly heavy lifting and I am thoroughly seated for it, wrapping this up as a no-brainer ten out of ten for us.
Another day, another relentless hyperfixation on a series that makes me romanticize 90s New York to an unhealthy degree. John and Carolyn were the peak of the mountain, making their tragic swan song incredibly hard to stomach.
