Trains never run proper on weekends; I found myself upended on the far end of Bleecker street, and the torrential downpour followed me home. Restaurants along Bleecker stood empty in the rain, but the line outside Poisson Rouge stretched around the block. We pick our battles. In Brooklyn, the windows shuddered from the storm, but the company was worth the trek. We pick our battles, indeed.
As I turned the corner on Morton, I found myself slowing down, reluctant to return home and hear the news of Orphan Puppy's condition. The morning had seen a setback and we were again reminded of Reality, of Mortality. But when I got home, her wagging tail and eager eyes reassured me, bought us another day.
Faced with mortality, every day lived is another battle won.
Showing posts with label brooklyn. Show all posts
Showing posts with label brooklyn. Show all posts
Monday, March 7, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Abridged
It was cold, too cold, there'd be other opportunities for a stroll and the trains run so frequently on weekdays. But before I knew it, I'd reached the Bedford Avenue entrance and was slowly making my way onto the Williamsburg Bridge.
Perhaps the wine helped, kept my legs warm. Perhaps it was the sweet remnants of invaluable friendship, still coursing through my veins and reminding me what an amazing thing that is. Here we are, in the City, all together, how blessed are we?, and I couldn't help but smile. As I climbed to the peak, my ears filled with Axl Rose in his youth and my step kept his quick beat. I felt like an animal released to pasture in the spring, I stretched my tired muscles and sang along.
The Williamsburg bridge, all steel beam prison and glimpses of the world, the city beyond, was nearly empty; lone bikers rode home in the opposite directions. The J train passed below, countless cars, but mostly I felt as though it were all mine, and, with it, so was the city. For that brief moment, how high I was. Literally, too. At the descent on the other end, I looked up and saw nothing but the night sky, and was again reminded how unusual that is. I was lowered past people's 12th story windows, saw the skyscrapers I know as friends disappear behind rising buildings. Considered that if I jumped from here it would still be an awfully long way to go.
And then, suddenly, deposited on Delancey Street as though the whole thing were a mirage. Crossing the Lower East Side streets, my Manhattan streets, as though Brooklyn weren't a world away and hadn't I been here all along? Turn a corner and there is Morton Street. You may act surprised, but in fact it is nothing unusual.
All roads lead to home, if you let them.
Perhaps the wine helped, kept my legs warm. Perhaps it was the sweet remnants of invaluable friendship, still coursing through my veins and reminding me what an amazing thing that is. Here we are, in the City, all together, how blessed are we?, and I couldn't help but smile. As I climbed to the peak, my ears filled with Axl Rose in his youth and my step kept his quick beat. I felt like an animal released to pasture in the spring, I stretched my tired muscles and sang along.
The Williamsburg bridge, all steel beam prison and glimpses of the world, the city beyond, was nearly empty; lone bikers rode home in the opposite directions. The J train passed below, countless cars, but mostly I felt as though it were all mine, and, with it, so was the city. For that brief moment, how high I was. Literally, too. At the descent on the other end, I looked up and saw nothing but the night sky, and was again reminded how unusual that is. I was lowered past people's 12th story windows, saw the skyscrapers I know as friends disappear behind rising buildings. Considered that if I jumped from here it would still be an awfully long way to go.
And then, suddenly, deposited on Delancey Street as though the whole thing were a mirage. Crossing the Lower East Side streets, my Manhattan streets, as though Brooklyn weren't a world away and hadn't I been here all along? Turn a corner and there is Morton Street. You may act surprised, but in fact it is nothing unusual.
All roads lead to home, if you let them.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Friday Nights
We are going to dance! she exlaims for a week, preparing for the weekend of her birthday. A motley crew trundles through Williamsburg to the narrow bar where lumber jack-wannabes crowd onto the nonexistant dance floor, and the DJ loses himself in 1980 and 1991.
Eventually, I walk home alone down glazed streets along a row of cat calls. New York City sleeps when no one is looking and only the garbage gets picked up. Orphan puppy is tumbling about in my week's worth of dirty laundry; when I go to bed she nestles in my armpit and putters happily while I sort through work emails that were lost in the excitement of Friday evening.
How simple the pleasures of life, sometimes.
Eventually, I walk home alone down glazed streets along a row of cat calls. New York City sleeps when no one is looking and only the garbage gets picked up. Orphan puppy is tumbling about in my week's worth of dirty laundry; when I go to bed she nestles in my armpit and putters happily while I sort through work emails that were lost in the excitement of Friday evening.
How simple the pleasures of life, sometimes.
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