February 11, 2014
On My 31st Day in Manhattan
On my 31st
day in Manhattan, Bastille’s “Pompeii” pumps through my ear buds as the routine
of a month settles in.
Let that sink in
for a minute: a month. I’ve been here for a month. Some days, it feels like I’ve
been here for years.
…Maybe my spirit
has… Is that too ethereal?
…
Walk to the
Trader Joe’s, as I’ve done every Tuesday morning (well, the last three Tuesday mornings).
My right hand in
my pocket; I open the door with my left hand. To me, that’s natural; to others,
that’s unusual. The man behind me chuckles.
“I see you’re
left-handed,” he says.
“Yeah, I am,” I
laugh, caught off guard – people don’t usually notice… Or if they do, they
don’t mention it.
“It wasn’t hard
to miss that one!”
I guess not, I think.
Bastille
continues to guide me through the aisles…
…
On my walk home,
I discover a Panera. It’s only a block away from my building! That’ll be my
downfall (but I’m totally going to spend a day in there writing this weekend!)…
…
A few hours
later, Bastille walks me to work again.
I’ve gotten
pretty good at dodging people on the street, if I do say so myself!
Laughing with
coworkers, black tea, chocolate, and a well-loved book about Miss Eyre round
out another good night at the theatre…
…
Walking home,
those magnificent city lights strike the night sky.
Tonight, I
decide to let the diva Madonna sing me home.
I round the
corner at Port Authority.
A Drag Queen
Diva; mocha skin, peach lips, sparkling emerald green eye shadow, and long
curling nails to match.
She spits just a few feet in front
of me before taking a long drag from a cigarette.
I smirk as “Material
Girl” plays in my headphones.
How fitting.
Eight blocks
down, the Empire State Building glows a bright red; a beacon for St. Valentine…
