One More Day

Things don’t look particularly good today, in terms of getting to work on time. I’m confident and hopeful, as I leave my apartment, that the long weekend will set me back straight. Just outside my building a woman is contemplating how she is going to dig her car out from under the snow. A thin Asian girl in skinny jeans, tucked into her boots, runs by.

Ruchama J. is inside her parked car, across from the train station and in the same spot as yesterday; I wonder if she ever made it out. She rolls down her window. “Did you hear about Matt?” Yes, of course I’ve heard, he’s one of my best friends and now he's gone and gotten himself engaged to be married.

At the entrance to the station, the AM New York Lady is singing a made up jingle about AM New York, and just inside a short woman is wearing a coat identical to the one Aliza’s mom bought her last year. I snap a picture for the blog before joining the hustle and bustle down below on the platform.

Old Habits Die Hard

I'm late. Yesterday was the first time since the New Year began that I was significantly late to work, and also the first time I missed a regularly scheduled workout.  As I rush to the train I wonder if, after only five and a half weeks, I am already slipping back to my old habits. In my defense, it's been as stressful a week as any, not to mention that I am feeling sleep deprived, a bit dehydrated, and my right contact lens is itchy.

On the way to the station I call Aliza and wake her up, as she had asked me to, and wish her a happy birthday.  When I turn onto Overlook, I see Ruchama J. brushing the roof of her car, which has been snowed in and plow trapped.  A short woman whom I don't recognize is shoveling the snow around Ruchama's car.  Finding the question on my face, Ruchama shouts "this is a very nice woman" and shrugs.

On the platform, Adam F. whizzes right by me.   A few seconds later, I hear a pitched "hi Ely" and look up to find Marissa E.   I'm really glad she has moved back into the hood, even as I contemplate moving out.  The train comes; I get a seat and settle in.  Next stop: more coffee.

Dry Roll

It's so late, I haven't got the time to put my lenses on, let alone make breakfast or stop to pick anything up. I grab a roll on my way out the door. It's not stale, but old enough to be dry on the palette and as I bite into it, on the elevator, I am infused with thirst. Unperturbed, I am done with the entire roll by the time I exit the building.

Under the scaffolding at 110 Bennett, I see one of my neighbors and he nods good morning. Behind me there is an Orthodox Jewish woman talking loudly into her phone, in Russian. Ruchama J. drives by in her sedan. She slows down to turn the corner, and waves when she sees me.

When I get onto the train a few minutes later I sit next to a pretty Latin girl in a black top with elbow length sleeves. She is wearing jeans, casual loafers, and hoop earrings, and her dark hair is pushed back into a pony tail. The roll I've devoured is just starting to digest and I can still smell the onion and garlic from the everything bagel she is eating. I am jealous of her coffee too, and debate, as I get closer to the office, if I'll risk the extra two minutes of tardiness it will take to get my own little latte.