I know I’m getting used to all of this, because dogs wearing coats now makes sense to me. Even hooded dog sweatshirts under a down tech vest. Instead of laughing, I think, "right." Actually, I think, "right, right" because everyone says that here. "Right, right." "Yeah, yeah." Or sometimes, "right, right, right"
They also order their pizza authoritatively and loudly. I thought this was rude until I realized it's more rude to say it quietly and then have to repeat it three times. It's loud here, so the people have to be louder than the background noise. Makes sense.
I like the way New Yorkers look when they cross the street. There is this whole choreographed routine they all do.
First, they stand hand in pockets, legs hip width apart, five or six feet into the street and watch the on-coming cars a bit smugly. You’ll notice that no one stands with legs wider apart than that. Both legs are always straight. No bent knees in that LA way with a hand on one hip or anything like that. Hands almost always in pockets.
Then they look the other direction briefly to see if there are cars, and look back in the original direction, a slightly annoyed expression hidden behind a blank face, not moving their body at all. No dancing from side to side. No saying "Oh! When will the street be clear?" No, it's a silent, still dance.
Finally, when the car, cab, or huge bus has just barely passed by, they plunge right into the street with the confidence of someone crossing the street on green.
Then, they glide along, taking long steps. They let their feet slide on the ground like a runway model or salsa dancer and don't pick them up very much. No one takes little bouncy steps here. It’s always long gliding struts, except for tourists.
When I watch fain falling down it makes me remember how very small humans are. For all of our technology, we can’t stop the rain. It will always fall and the wind will blow, because we’re not any better than the trees forced to sway or the birds that are hiding somewhere. I watch drops bouncing off the top of a truck. The forces that affect those drops affect us the same. So for all our fashion sense and educated worldliness and evolved thought, we are still as fragile as a bird, hiding from the rain.
Sometimes I look at the old buildings and try to picture how it must have looked back then in the 1900s in those paintings and photos I’ve seen with the old fashioned people and the markets on the streets. We still tuck our pants into our boots, even if we have skinny jeans now. I don’t think things are really very different as history follows so close behind. It wasn’t so long ago those people stood right here. The buildings are still standing and that amazes me.
All the categories are just imaginary dotted lines that we pretend to not see through. The plotted careers and five-year plans mean nothing. It’s all just rain falling and an animal taking cover. Nothing more. Nothing less.
I’ve never been in weather like this before, but it reminds me of two things. I’m alive and I’m no different from another other animal that needs to escape cold.
Last night I was wandering the streets killing time as the snow was billowing down from the sky and falling in blankets hiding the ugly sidewalks and garbage bags beneath. I realized this is why in movies, the characters run into shops and bars to escape the cold. It isn’t some stereotype. It really is cold. And like those characters, I slid into a corner shop, dusted the snow confetti out of my hair, simply to stand in there because it was warm. I got some soup and let me tell you, that it the best soup I’ve ever had. I’m not sure what it tasted like, but it tasted like warm.
I was so glad to be so cold, because for the first time in my life I could appreciate warm. This makes me think maybe there are other things I should do without just to make the distinction clear. Because I think that’s where happiness comes from.
In the rain, I walked past a guy in Tompkins Sq. park carrying a duffle bag, about my age. He slowed down as I walked up and I had a feeling he was going to say something or ask for change. He was walking with no umbrella in the heavy rain in the park. No one was around, so I felt just a tinge of concern. He slowly turned as he could hear me walking up.
“This country screws American Iraqi war veterans. Puts them on the street. Just puts them on the street.”
I didn’t know what to say. Was he a homeless kid looking for change like I was used to? Was what he was saying true? It could be. It’s so hard to tell if anything is true these days.
It was strange to realize that veterans are now our age. They are not some other generation I’ve heard about in school books. They are kids who maybe I sat next to in elementary school. And now they’re wandering the streets, confused.
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