All weekend, the only thing I see is parking spots. The whole town out for the weekend, the whole town at the beach, I am tempted to drive the station wagon around the neighborhood and parallel park in a hundred enormous spots. The city is calm, quiet, the weather is perfect, everything is heartachingly beautiful. I sit on the hot tar roof of my 5-story tenement and try not to burn the soles of my feet while staring at the Empire State building 28 blocks north and letting my shoulders turn pink with New.
I love the city when everyone leaves.
(It's not a metaphor. I am simple, now, uncomplicated in my old age.)
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