This morning on the shuttle from Times Square to Grand Central, a train that only goes there and back, a tourist paused before the open doors for maybe three seconds. Suddenly: “This is as far as you’re going! This is it! Get off!” So helpful. So efficient.
Between tracks people walk furiously to their next train or their exit door. The jockey, they dance, the weave in and out like lines of ants with singular focus. The footsteps create a pulsing percussion on long stretches of floors, soft in sound, despite the force with which they are stepping. A gentle drum session heard through your thickest blanket. It will lull you if you listen for it.
New York City is a 24 hour pizza town. I’ve seen two people eating slices already today, and it is not yet 9 o’ clock.
Ten Years Later
I went to Ground Zero for the first time this weekend. Almost a decade later, and it’s still a giant hole in the ground. That is a damn shame.
Been in the city long?” inquired the New Yorker, getting ready for the...– O. Henry
The weather in New York needs to quit with the one solitary day of short skirts. What a tease.
New York is perfect tonight. Flawless.
Ten Years Later
There were four fire engines outside my apartment when I arrived him tonight on foot. I stood waiting for the walk signal and took in the side of a fire truck. On the side of it were nine names, painted in cursive, under the heading, “Nine in Heaven.” Underneath the nine names were the numbers 9/11/01. It has been nearly a decade since that day, but there are reminders everywhere of...
Pushed down the bar by two girls ten years my junior so that they can drink white zin. That they put ice cubes in. UPDATE: They are fucking models! I swear to God.
New Yorkers will tell anyone who will listen what is wrong with them: “I forgot to take my meds and my mind is racing.” “I am going to go get an enema and take a nap.” “I haven’t pooped in days.” Thanks for sharing, y’all!
Manhattan Real Talk
When I say things like, “this bar on the east side,” or “is there a place in midtown,” I hear the words come out of my mouth, and it sounds like a movie or t.v. show, because the only people I ever heard talk like that before were fictitious characters.
Can’t. Stop. Eating. Bagels. Today I *brought* my healthy breakfast, but my body made a left of its own volition and purchased a giant round of simple carbohydrates. I am helpless.
Apparently a truly good New York bagel need not be toasted. I just learned this today. I always wondered why I got the “not from around here” eye when I ask for it toasted.
There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first the New York of the man or...– E.B. White, Here is New York, 1949