Driving rains, warm spring temperatures, buffeted around on the train platform, an umbrella turns inside out.
A doctor’s appointment, supplements, trek to Argo Tea, Greek yogurt with honey + hot chai tea, reading Writer’s Digest magazine, waiting for Avi.
Dogwood blossoms dress Fashion Avenue, naked in the rain showers, dropping white petals on bubblegum-blackened sidewalks.
Creaking bathroom doors, steamed milk squealing into life, loud conversations shouted into cell phones. The front door lags open for its ghosts guests. Maybe they hear the wooing of the steamed milk machines and mistake it for the Great Ghost Council calling them in for their annual meeting. Sad sirens glide past the coffee shop window, dying with the last breath of its horn.
A man in a hoodie pushes a store cart, top to bottom things covered in plastic bags. TD Bank greening supports dogwood boughs for a hint of spring green not yet appearing on its branches. A young man carries a limping umbrella, as if past its youthful prime. A middle-aged man with bags under his eyes cups his coffee in one hand while slicking back his wet, straight hair with the other.
A see-through plastic domed umbrella with thick red trim all around is a moving half bubble, the above water version of a marine shuttle that goes underwater to observe the tropical fish. NYC is world’s tropic fish – all species and stripes moving in groups up and down the stream, criss-crossing in patterns of personal mayhem.
Teeming with life. In a fishbowl.
Puffer fish bankers boasting of sales closed and commissions earned. Land sharkes parked in lined pods. Cabs are the rulers of the sea-roads, swerving in and out of each other’s path, paying attention and speeding ahead while trying to assert power in a more subtle way – by intimidation of presence, not teeth.