New York, New York

In New York we live everywhere. On top of and below each other, in skinny buildings that reach for the sky, in underground tunnels that hollow the island. There are people on each street corner selling plastic, selling overripe fruit, running, walking, and whirling around each other. I feel overwhelmed and overjoyed. I miss the madness, the chaos, the sense that we are together yet absolutely alone in this strange human landscape.

Right now as I write, I’m looking out at a tree-line street in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn, where I’m staying with a close friend of mine from college. Cindy’s a PhD student studying Geography. She rides her bike everywhere and has beautiful wild-black hair. Her apartment has large windows and bright wood floors. I hear an ambulance, look outside and see a line of brownstone houses that reach on and on and on. I miss the madness, I think, leaning into glass. I miss the anything and everything of this tall, endless city. 

                                                          F Train to Manhattan