Overhead in The Peacock Room #001 | Luke Rollins

A powder room for the minutes, after-hours.

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NB: As you may (not) know —we certainly didn’t— messages exceeding 102KB get clipped by Gmail. Since this new, paywalled section —capturing minutes and little bits of alpha at the burgeoning group chat— will be image-intensive, it is likely you will have to visit the site to read through the entire missive. We promise to make it worth your trouble.

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Welcome to our little powder room, just down the hall from The Peacock Room, our main salon. Here we decamp, dust our noses, and pull out our phones to do a little dishing — and covert Googling.

I was out to dinner with my family the other night — my father took a weekend break from solo-hiking the Appalachian Trail for dinner and drinks in Astoria — and my little brother, who came to Bloomberg’s New York ten years ago with Snake Plissken visions of dystopian blight, mentioned with blasé delight a Fox 5 local news report on the emergence of his block as the methamphetamine capital of New York.