Midtown, via Jersey

Among the things no one likes to do on a Monday morning, aside from getting up, getting dressed, and going to work, is returning a rental car on the other side of the Hudson and walking back to New York. I reach the rental agency in less than 10 minutes. Rachel, the attendant, remembers me from Friday and apologizes for charging me an extra $13.75 on account of exceeded mileage.

At the Jersey entrance to the bridge, there is a colorful flower memorial to a firefighter who died in the World Trade Center on 9/11. Crossing the GWB, the wind is pleasant but I remove my yamika anyway and put it in my pocket. After the Times Square fiasco, when a gust whisked it away towards 8th Avenue, I'd prefer not to take chances.

The view is fantastic. During the walk I see 3 security guards, 4 cyclists (3 male, 1 female, all wearing helmets), and only 1 other pedestrian. I also spot 1 shattered side mirror, 1 auto repair flyer (shidduch?), 8 traffic cones (3 crushed), 10,000 motorists, and 1 gaping hole in the ground.

I board the train from the 175th street station and see no one I recognize until I switch to the B at 59th street. Sharona T. doesn't see me.