LovinThisCity

I moved to New York a while ago. Short enough time to still seem new, long enough that it's almost home. Either way, I'm fascinated.

[lovinthiscity-blog-blog]

Inquiry

At a well known coffee shop, I sit and gaze between the people walking along the sidewalks and my own reflection in the window. The night is cool and the shop is cozy. A quiet older woman sits next to me with her nose buried in a book. She must be a professor preparing for the following day’s lesson.

She, like me, has found her nook in the coffee shop away from the bustle of the city. Well, it’s still very present through the windows, but the noise is certainly drowned out.

All I can hear is this week’s music selection. Or perhaps the barista threw on her own playlist. Either way, I’m happy. Chill.

Although, I slowly and suddenly can’t help but feel eyes on me. Should I turn and look? The ultimate debate. But she’s a harmless older woman. She’s probably going to ask where I got my bag or comment on my coat. I give in and discover the perfectly innocent-looking lady is now strangely staring directly at me and almost shouting asks, “Is it illegal to stalk people?”

Damn. I thought she was normal.

“Yes,” I reply looking her straight in the eye, hoping she’ll take the hint.

“That’s what I thought,” as she goes back to her book.

[lovinthiscity-blog-blog]

Back on track

Can you pick up a blog where you left off almost five years ago?

Can I?

I read my old entries and see the photos I used to take with my Blackberry. Yeah, those are coming down. It’s a bit surreal to observe how much time has changed things as it’s flown by. Like how much highly pixilated images have smoothed out over the years. Do I still look like that? Or have I become more clear, too?

I feel hesitant. I want to write again, but I’m not sure where to start. Is this even something I’ll continue doing after this particular entry? I begin a sentence as doubt creeps into my periphery. Is that self doubt? Well, fuck it. I’m writing. Yes, I’m a little past due for this entry, five years of the world has continued to revolve and sucked me into distraction. My poor neglected little blog just sitting here unattended, undeveloped. But waiting ever so patiently. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. 

At least in this moment.

Living in the moment.

There’s a thought.

[lovinthiscity-blog-blog]

Turn around

In midtown, a father has his son sit next to me. The train is pretty full, so the father remains standing. Kid gets up and the protective parent immediately asks him where he’s going.

“I’m turning around.”

The child props himself on his knees next to me, staring out of the smudged window. Quietly humming to himself.

At the next stop, some seats open up and the father gathers his son in his arms and sits them both down together. Immediately, the kid turns around to stick his nose on the glass. The father takes out his phone.

Every single person on this car is facing toward the middle. We’re all looking at each other without seeing anyone. All of us except this kid.

What does he see?

Why aren’t all of our noses pressed to the window?

We’ve seen it?

It’s nothing new. His developing brain is taking it all in. From the iron pillars whipping by to the people on the platform. From the flashing bulbs to the dried up dirty raindrops on the other side of the glass. It’s all new.

Is it possible to see the world the same way? Once we think we know it?

At 59th & Lex, a young woman blocks my view with her bellybutton. Show it off, girl. Show. It. Off.

I can see the father, though. He’s still on his phone.

[lovinthiscity-blog-blog]

Velvet voices

You can always tell when those four guys are about to start singing. Something about the way they enter the train. Maybe it’s the humming.

Normally I’m annoyed by subway shows but these guys are always good. I’ve encountered this a cappella group a handful of times over the years and they’re kind of irresistible. Yet our NY instincts have been developed to ignore the in-transit entertainment. We all keep our eyes low. I’m pretty sure it’s illegal too.

From where I stand I notice an older woman looking straight ahead with disgust mounted on her face. Full on over-it and making sure viewers know.

But then movement catches my eye below. Her hands are ever so lightly tapping to the beat. Her face and her limbs are saying two very different things. From dark to light. But, don’t worry. She quickly catches herself and immediately stops tapping. Fierce mug still in tact.

I wonder about this moment. She clearly feels something. I mean, something. But if she were to show it, then we would all know. Vulnerability really is frightening. Put it away.

The quartet continues to douse our car with their effortless melody. I play the game and keep my eyes low and my ear buds plugged. But I turn my music down and allow a smirk.

The velvet voices walk by me. I don’t give any money but I do look them in the eye as I smile. I receive beaming smiles in return.

I bring my line of vision low again to see her feet have now started tapping.

Her face holds fast.

[lovinthiscity-blog-blog]

Domino dance

My eyes avert to the shoes of the people sitting in front of me. As usual. On a full train. Again.

At one stop, the upper corner of my eye catches a middle-aged woman rise from her seat to allow an older woman a chance to sit. The older woman and her aching feet are clearly grateful. Smiles and thank you’s abound. The young man sitting next to her, in turn, stands. Allowing the original middle-aged woman the opportunity to sit back down. She does. At this point, my head is all the way up and I’m hypnotized by this domino dance of seats across from me. I catch the beginning of a smile forming on my face. I anticipate the next person to follow suit and stand for the young man.

I’m slightly disappointed when he doesn’t.

I turn and catch someone staring at me. 

I avert my eyes.

[lovinthiscity-blog-blog]

Back on track

Can you pick up a blog where you left off almost five years ago?

Can I?

I read my old entries and see the photos I used to take with my Blackberry. Yeah, those are coming down. It’s a bit surreal to observe how much time has changed things as it’s flown by. Like how much highly pixilated images have smoothed out over the years. Do I still look like that? Or have I become more clear, too?

I feel hesitant. I want to write again, but I’m not sure where to start. Is this even something I’ll continue doing after this particular entry? I begin a sentence as doubt creeps into my periphery. Is that self doubt? Well, fuck it. I’m writing. Yes, I’m a little past due for this entry, five years of the world has continued to revolve and sucked me into distraction. My poor neglected little blog just sitting here unattended, undeveloped. But waiting ever so patiently. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. 

At least in this moment.

Living in the moment.

There’s a thought.

[lovinthiscity-blog-blog]

[lovinthiscity-blog-blog]

That guy

The asshole of a turnstile at 34th decides to steal my swipe and keep me even minutes more from my next destination. I stand there steadily swiping again and again as it continues to ask me to do so over and over. A man comes up beside me to his own functioning turnstile. He, like everyone else now, notices the loud repeated beeping in the silent station caused by yours truly's incompetent metrocard swiping. He generously offers to share his swipe, so I helplessly and quite awkwardly squeeze in behind him making a smartass comment as our bundled up bodies inevitably touch. I say something about it being nice to meet him. On the other side, I genuinely thank him for his kindness. "Merry Christmas!" He shouts over his shoulder with a smile in his voice as he walks down the stairs leaving my life forever.

We never made eye contact.

But I made it on time.

[lovinthiscity-blog-blog]

The usual

I think, "I'm thirsty."

Then I come back from the kitchen with a cookie.

[lovinthiscity-blog-blog]

Either/or

Midday football. At a bar. Alone. Waiting for a friend. My new bar friend Randy on my right and the two guys on my left are all cheering for the Giants. I'm still adjusting to the local team preferences. I'm here to support a Redskins fan. Which is ridiculous all its own.

The guy to my left finishes his beer, "I guess I'll take a coffee. Do you guys have coffee?"

The lovely bartender with the perfect lipstick shakes her head, "No."

"Ok, I'll have another beer."

Cheers.

[lovinthiscity-blog-blog]

Holiday mail

Love getting slips from the post office. Love the two block walk in the sunshine to the delivery I know my family sent for the holidays. I bet there'll be cookies in there.

"ID?" he asks as I step up with my golden ticket. I hand him my driver's license from a previous state and he makes a comment about how he thought I was someone famous. I love him, too, now. Cookies and compliments makes for a great day. He leaves to find my gift box.

As I'm waiting, the woman beside me orders stamps. "I like all your silver bracelets!" she tells the post-lady through the plexiglass. Smiling, she elaborates,"If someone messes with you, you can just knock 'em out with 'em."

[lovinthiscity-blog-blog]

Inquiry

At a well known coffee shop, I sit and gaze between the people walking along the sidewalks and my own reflection in the window. The night is cool and the shop is cozy. A quiet older woman sits next to me with her nose buried in a book. She must be a professor preparing for the following day's lesson.

She, like me, has found her nook in the coffee shop away from the bustle of the city. Well, it's still very present through the windows, but the noise is certainly drowned out.

All I can hear is this week's music selection. Or perhaps the barista threw on her own playlist. Either way, I'm happy. Chill.

Although, I slowly and suddenly can't help but feel eyes on me. Should I turn and look? The ultimate debate. But she's a harmless older woman. She's probably going to ask where I got my bag or comment on my coat. I give in and discover the perfectly innocent-looking lady is now strangely staring directly at me and almost shouting asks, "Is it illegal to stalk people?"

Damn. I thought she was normal.

"Yes," I reply looking her straight in the eye, hoping she'll take the hint.

"That's what I thought," as she goes back to her book.