Some days Brooklyn is a retreat (we have the beach). Some days Manhattan is a sinking ship (they have Times Square and the scuffled shuffle for the rush hour 7). Natives deal with the push-push-shove-stare-bump-crazy-nudge in their own way. A book is a nice retreat when the MTA disappoints with delays and disguised efforts ("Franny and Zooey" is my current recommendation). Mornings here are unlike mornings anywhere else. Everyone..literally everyone..starts the day with a discussion of their ride in...right train, wrong track...no train, no announcement...stalled train, no reception....
The constant commute makes us a different breed...sometimes a not so nice breed. My tolerance has all but vanished. I elbow back and argue. But...I leave it at the station. I don't waste my pre- and post- cube time culling the details of each vexing minute. I find my way out. I go home to my bright nest. I sneak away on the weekends. I prefer to be pleased.
Tonight I went jogging on the beach engrossed in the perfect dusk, with the perfect soundtrack full of gulls, godwits and kelp...finished with a cool down past the Cyclones game and Dreamland.
sweet dreams to all....
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