Ah, autumn in New York. Glittering crowds and shimmering clouds, in canyons of steel. They’re making me feel, I’m home.
Here’s when I first felt that I was back in New York. On the ride into the city from Newark airport, I was in the back row of the Super Shuttle. In my row were three Spaniards, the row in front of me had two woman conversing in one of the African dialects, next to them was two very pretty French twenty-something students and in the front row was two blue-haired octogenarian women that came to attend a few Broadway shows, both of whom were named Dorothy. Yep, that’s my town, kids.
For the most part, not much has changed. A few different store fronts, a few restaurants that looked new. And I have seen the NYPD riding around in those electric Leonardo-DeCaprio-mobiles. The subway smells the same, sounds the same. The city smells the same. Some of the summer funk is still lingering in the air. The strange humid-like smell that is hard to describe but is basically Manhattan itself farting through the storm drains.
You never know what you’ll see in Manhattan. While walking through mid-town yesterday, I saw a hobo with two cats asking for change next to Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. I’ve seen plenty of winos with dogs, but a hobo with cats; that was a new one.
Many of my favorite buildings and streets seem like old friends. I have found myself saying hello to them in my head as I walk by. Not out loud, that would be nuts. I walked through Central Park the morning after I arrived. Though one of my favorite paths was closed for renovation, I could still make it over to Bow Bridge and look out into the Upper West Side. I made a wish, flipped a penny into the drink and felt like I was home.
I love New York.