Lackawanna

After such an insanely hot week, the heat finally broke, little breezes nestling into the trees outside my windows. We made our way across tricky railroad tracks leading straight into the water and climbed up to the top of the old boat. A pitcher of sangria, a smoke, and the sun slowly sank on the other side of the Hudson until twilight crept in through the Chelsea streets. It was a day when I had needed to do so many other things. But sitting there in the warm sunlight and the air of the Atlantic, I had no regrets.

I rode at the very front of the C the other day, one of those old trains with a window straight ahead. I stood there and stared, as we made our way through the deep dark tunnels of New York City, through this labyrinth that amazes me to childlike wonder. We passed other trains in the dark night, with people going elsewhere on other levels. Every pole we passed had some person's tag; I envied them immensely for having allowed themselves to delve into the depths on their own, unsupervised, unprotected by steel walls and safety announcements. I held my breath. Suddenly, we turned a corner, and light flooded the window, the beginning of the West 4th platform unwinding ahead. Again a familiar place, out of the all-too brief respite, the break from Reality. I sighed, gathered up my things, my heart, stepped out and walked home.

Sometimes, if I think too much about the Life, the futility, the inactivity of my days, it builds up in my chest, I want to scream.