Tremors

It's a dreary day out, and a bag full of heavy laundry doesn't help the scene. On the way to the laundromat, I see Will A. exiting from the synagogue, and Jeremy S. (presumably having just left synagogue as well) across the street. On the way back, I pass David H. and we both wave.

The next stop is Dunkin' Donuts but the line for coffee is too long so I walk out and head over to the train station. Along the way I run into Meyer B. and he offers a salute. I nod in response.

In the tunnel, a wide Hispanic woman in a green shirt and gray capris is sporting the world's loudest flip flops. The sound of each step she take radiates through the station like a minor earthquake. Past the turnstiles and all the way on the other side of the platform, I can still hear the clickety clack of her pacing.

The train is crowded, but I manage to get a seat; it’s a few more minutes of respite before the work week begins.

People and Opera

Just out front of my building, I spot Meyer B. walking across the street, probably on his way home from synagogue, which seems to have let out a few moments ago. Ken H. walks by too, and into the lobby (he and his wife live one floor below me), as does Mo H. Just as I start to walk down Bennett I run into Shuli B. I haven’t seen her in weeks and we both greet each other warmly. She gets annoyed that I am speaking to her through my sunglasses, so I remove them and, as an aside, comment that I like her rimless specs. She says she wishes she could wear contacts like I do, and we talk about dry eyes for the next couple of minutes.

Further on towards the subway station, I run into David M. who is curiously clad in a dark suit. He tells me that he occasionally meet with clients for whom he must dress up. I let him know he looks sharp, and head into the station. At the far end of the platform, where I can later exit one block closer to the bagel store, I chance upon a freelancing opera singer. Not much of an opera fan myself, I can still appreciate how well her voice projects, and consider an illicit cell phone recording for later post onto my blog. The train arrives too quickly.

Rain Rain Go Away

It's still raining.  That makes 48 hours, maybe more.  Like a North Poler in the early winter months, I've lost sight of sunlight.  I hate when it rains not because I mind getting wet, but because New Yorkers don't know how to walk with a damn umbrella.  It's like playing dodge ball with your face and a plethora of metal spikes.   Meyer B. passes me with panda-patterned umbrella.  He doesn't see me, but he's tall and easily manages to steer clear of me; that's more than I can say for the woman with circular umbrella.

In the station, I notice Rabbi G. texting on the catwalk.  On the train, I sit next to a woman reading a Vogue article about some other woman who left the city to live in rural Maine on a smaller budget.   The idea is enticing for a moment, but there really isn't much to do there.  This woman must have had some other motive the article has omitted - romantic love met on a connecting flight, or some strange line of business that can only thrive in the northernmost parts of the Continental U.S.  No, I'll be staying in New York for now, even with its idiotic rainy-day pedestrians.

Kobi's Bar Mitzvah

It’s bitter outside. Frostbite only takes about 15 minutes to set in, and it’s cold enough that I’m genuinely concerned. Right outside my building, as I fend off a strong gust of wind, someone I don’t recognize says hello and wishes me a good morning. A few seconds later, Meyer B. passes me and also says good morning.

At the train station, on the platform, I recognize the bored girl I sat across from earlier this week. This time her tights are solid black, and she is wearing a bright pink hat. Walking towards my spot, I pass Ezra F. sitting and reading. Across the platform, a homeless man is laying on one of the benches and has covered himself using a gray sweatshirt with Hebrew lettering. It reads “Kobi’s Bar Mitzvah.”

Margie C. walks over just as the train pulls into the station and we board together. We chat a little about jetlag , a little about her attractions, and mostly about marriage and relationships in general. Margie is vivid as she speaks and often gestures with her hand. At one point, she practically whacks the newspaper out of an innocent bystander. We all laugh, and Margie asks if I will write about it in my blog.

Tired

I get into the elevator together with my next door neighbor and as we ride we discuss willow trees. Out on the street an old man pushing a cart wishes me a happy holiday, and just before entering the subway station I spot Rabbi B. He says hello and I wave back.

Just inside the tunnel, there is a girl sitting on the floor with her back to the wall, reading. At first I think she is homeless, but she is not dressed very homelessly. She is wearing jeans, and a long sleeve white shirt with a black vest over it. A yellow scarf is fashionably draped around her neck.

Talia L. is on the platform and rides the train with me. She gets a seat but I am not quick enough, so I stand near her. Meyer B. is also in the car, towards the other side. Talia and I talk about work and how tired we always feel. We commiserate most of the ride, but before getting off at 59th we also talk about what we did last summer.

The Heat Is On

I’m not quite running late today, but considering how many hours I’ve already been awake I really should have left a long time ago. Jetlag, with a little bit of extra insomnia and the achy cold I picked up overseas make for a bad recipe and so I’m not particularly in the mood to get to work anytime soon. On the street, I start to flip through the songs on my blackberry and fail to notice the piece of scaffolding on the ground until I trip over it. Ezra F. is walking across the street.

I reach Overlook Terrace and I see the A Station Homeless Guy pushing his cart up the block towards me. His new girlfriend is still with him, she is clinging to his side. She has a stern look about her but he seems happier than I’ve ever seen him before. Closer up I can’t help but notice how much younger she is than him, and I think she must view him as a sort of protector in her unsheltered world.

I reach the turnstiles and get the infamous “insufficient fare.” It’s so hot and humid in the station that by the time I’ve purchased a new card I am sweating. Down at the platform the heat is worse and I slowly feel the antiperspirant start to give way. I am glad I use Dial.

Meyer B. is at the platform and starts speaking to me but I can’t hear him because my music is playing too loudly. I fumble to pull the headphones out of my ears and am able to piece to together that he has told me about four uptown trains that have passed and that a downtown train must be on the way soon. I have no idea why I find this funny but I start to chuckle and keep walking towards my spot. It’s so hot that I can’t stand still, and I start to pace even though I know it will actually make me hotter. I run into Marc R. and we wave to each other. Further on the platform I can see Yael B. talking to Simone G.

Nomi G. spots me and walks over. We start to chat about Chicago, weekend plans, holiday plans, and many other various topics. The train arrives and we board together and continue the conversation, but it’s so crowded that we keep bumping into each other. My left arm is sandwiched between my body and the door.

We are somewhere between 145^th and 125^th when the shot of Dayquil I took finally starts to kick in. At 59^th, I say goodbye to Nomi and as I walk off the train she asks for the link to my blog.

On 48^th street I spot Lovey E. and catch up to her. She works across the street from me and we try to get lunch together once a month or so but our schedules are such that I haven’t actually seen her in a really long time. I am surprised, and somewhat jealous, that she is wearing a t-shirt and when I ask about it, she tells me that she sometimes walks to work. She likes to wear comfortable clothes and then change when she gets there. I walk with her the rest of the way to her office and cut thru her lobby to get to my own building. There is nothing quite like that cool, crisp air conditioning as it strikes against me.