All Is Forgiven

Stuck in the darkness of the tunnel, on the way into Manhattan, time passing, anxiety rising as I grow increasingly late. Finally the train begins to move.

As we begin to slowly climb the bridge into the sunny blue sky over the river, maintenance men pause in their work on the tracks (the same work that's been causing us to creep along for the last twenty minutes) to watch us pass. One worker in particular leans against a  trestle, exhaustion slackening his expression to bone-weary neutral, and the sight of his weariness unclenches the frustration that has been building in my chest, leaving me free to watch with gratitude the sun glittering the water beneath us.
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One year ago: Alarmed
Two years ago: Why Downtown?
Three years ago: Full Moon
Four years ago: Timor Mortis Conturbat Me
Seven years ago: What Goes Around Comes Around
Ten years ago: Accordion Sweetness

Taking Out The Trash On Two Glasses Of Red

A long day at work and a couple of glasses of wine have me just the tiniest bit buzzed as I take the garbage and the recycling downstairs to put it out on the curb. Not actually drunk, you understand, just the edges on the world are a little bit blunter than when I got home.

I feel, as I round the stairs to the landing on the second floor, an urge to sing very loudly, and not any particular song as much as just a loud "la-di-da-dum" at the top of my lungs.

It's only a passing notion, though, mild and easily ignored, but I realize how really drunk people must feel when they get what seems like a great idea to do something kinda stupid, and instead of waking the building I just keep doing what I'm doing: taking out the trash.
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One year ago: Solidarity
Two years ago: Priorities
Three years ago: They Can Smell It On You

Into the Wind

"I don't know where you're going," he says as we're leaving the market at the end of the day, "but my protip is to walk through the market."

This is perfectly logical: his way is a long block indoors, it's quite chilly out, and the wind whips off the Hudson and over the West Side Highway with vicious cold in its teeth to shriek down streets and buffet foolish pedestrians who choose to brave it.

But to follow him, admitting, essentially, that I hadn't really thought things through?

"I'm just gonna walk this way to clear my head," I say cheerfully, feeling the false smile cracking my chapped lips.
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One year ago: Genetics
Two years ago: Mundane Mindfulness
Three years ago: Football Is Manly
Four years ago: Sometimes These Things Practically Write Themselves

Miracles and Wonders

"Dude, these are real butterflies," the guy says enthusiastically after calling his friends over to the booth where I'm selling Katie's sculptures.

One of them looks around blank-faced, nods a little.

"We live in a world of miracles and wonders," I tease gently. "Moving on!"
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One year ago: Lasers
Two years ago: Taste the Rainbow
Three years ago: The Gift
Ten years ago: Wealth, I Don't Has It

I Was Thinking The Same Thing

The alarm goes off just as I'm walking by the car, and it's indicative of the day I'm having that I jump a little and then grimace.

A guy sitting on the low wall outside the church says something I can't hear to a woman walking by him, and the two of them laugh. Then, as I'm walking by him, he catches my eye.

"Shut up!" he says in a gruff voice, looking at the still wailing car, and then he smiles.
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One year ago: A Discussion On Lane Bryant
Two years ago: LA Cops
Three years ago: Enabler
Four years ago: Expressing Attitude
Ten years ago: "It Just Keeps Getting Worse!"

Keeping Up The Pace

Gray day, Brooklyn sidewalk, I'm carrying a couple of pretty heavy, bulky bags that require some energy to maneuver, so I'm walking pretty slow, trying to take up as little space as possible.

She passes me on the left: fur-lined, hooded jacket, jeans with giant yellow and red flowers embroidered on the cuffs tucked into her boots, striding fast.

Though she's enough faster than me to stay in front, she's not quite fast enough to beat the lights, so at each stoplight, I end up standing awkwardly next to her, or just back from her left shoulder. I'm careful not to pass her, but I can feel my usual competitive spirit getting riled. 

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One year ago: Standing O

Two years ago: (Not) Going My Way

Three years ago: It's a Living

Four years ago: Stars Don't Care

Ten years ago: Trying Too Hard

This One Might Not Read to Those From Out Of Town

As we come off the West Side Highway down Canal, we drive past a site where we've sold Katie's art, and suddenly two formerly separate pieces of the city come together with Katie saying, "Click."

"Soho my ass," she adds, referencing the attempt of the site owners to brand the venue as part of the tony neighborhood, when clearly it's pretty far west of there.

"Well, to be fair, it is South of Houston," I say.

"So's Brooklyn," she snaps back.
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One year ago: Heated
Two years ago: Admit It
Three years ago: How To Walk
Four years ago: Whole. Hearted.
Ten years ago: Scotty In Furs (Or Pleather)