I've gotten used to leaving my apartment in the early hours so today, having overslept as much as I did, I'm surprised at how much light is out already. There's a fresh cool breeze though, which after yesterday's sweltering heat just about makes up for anything.
I head to the station, through the turnstiles, and down to the platform. Aviva P. is near the bottom of the stairs. As the train approaches, Ken H. walks by and we fist-five each other as he passes.
There are plenty of seats on the subway; I grab one and - finally off my video kick - start reading the New Yorker. I'm three months behind, but plenty of subway time to catch up.
At Rockefeller, as I get off the train, I spot Ilan K. in the distance. A guy who is very much defined by his curly hair, we have mutual friends and have met at various parties, including my some of my own birthday parties. And while the memory of those parties makes me want to head straight to any open bar, I follow the crowd up the stairs and to the office instead.
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