Tag: New York

Air and Afghanistan

Only at 27,000 feet did I finally feel the electric bolt of lightning strike through the crown of my head and finally ground deep into the earth. The past week in New York was stormy, for this time of year, and the thunder rumbled and the sky popped without rain or those telltale white hot…

Read more Air and Afghanistan

Mami

She sits oppose me, her toes tapping in time to my disgustingly hipster tune played by The Decemberists. She can’t hear my music; it’s just a coincidence. Her nails sparkle with a hint of glitter from the ghetto, her lap filled with a bulky burden wrapped in a telltale fleece blanket embroidered with a small…

Read more Mami

Jump

My toes are touching the edge of the curb and to jump off would to be to leap down into something of which I cannot see the bottom. I know it looks limitless here, on the street, even though really I’m simply perceiving the reflection of water on the tarmac. Dark matter, perhaps, without beginning,…

Read more Jump

Judge and Jury

I leave the studio laughing, and look over underneath the Korean bodega’s awning – an amalgamation of cultures in a place some consider to be the ultimate melting pot. I don’t see such unification but a new Berlin wall waving and winding with no discernible trajectory. This concrete boundary is covered with frustrated grafitti in the…

Read more Judge and Jury

Resentment

I’m in New York and it’s Autumn. I’m hot. I shouldn’t complain, but I’m hot and this coat is heavy. It’s cold in the shade, though, and the dusty residue from the potatoes I just selected at the farmer’s market – that’s going to be gone soon, too – is bothering me in a wash-my-hands,…

Read more Resentment

The Golden Ticket

They don’t call them “newsagents” here, but that smell is the same – that shockingly dusky smell that is always tinged with cigars and nicotine and the promise of what is inside the cheerful wrapper pallette spread in front of too close fingers. It took me a moment to place, that smell, that bizarre odor that…

Read more The Golden Ticket

Faith. Trust. Pixie Dust.

“All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust.” ― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan She left the yoga studio half running, half walking in the drizzly insanity of a morning where the train was late, the practice was revealing and work beckoned with a curled, outstretched finger. Balancing better than she had…

Read more Faith. Trust. Pixie Dust.

Mornings

There’s something to be said for rising early, for being among the first on the train, a touch bleary-eyed, coffee still warm from the French press from which it was just poured. The light of the subway car is harsh and apt to make anyone look unflattering before the light has time to break across…

Read more Mornings

One

It’s one of those days when I feel a little sad, but for no discernible reason. The tangy chill of autumn was in the air; I wore two long-sleeved shirts when I set out on my walk and kept them both on until I was well past three miles. The breeze from the water –…

Read more One