This afternoon, I stood outside of Trader Joe’s on 6th Avenue and woofed down some spicy california roll. It was windy, cold, and the snowflakes were so tiny they easily careened into my eyes as I ate.
Multiple umbrellas, blown inside out, crowded a trash can like large skinny fruit bats roosting in a cluster.
It was nearly dark for 2:30 p.m., and for some instant reason I wished my bottled water were vodka. More on that later.
Traffic bristled as usual along the avenue and the hangover of the holidays was piled in the gutter.
I imagined the mound of 'finished' Christmas trees met in the street after serving their purposes in the buildings above.
Now, huddled together, naked of their guild, they seemed lost there on the sidewalk.
Like me, fresh off the old year and on to the newest. Though at least, my fate was mostly in my hands.
The top spire of the Empire State building poked the lowest of the darkest clouds, and I realized then, it was back to being the tallest. It had regained its inordinate distinction, and was now susceptible to all types of retractions.
And yet, in every way to me, it was no more regal than those huddling trees before me. And I think if that building, or anything else that fell in front of my eyes while I stood here, had a voice, they would be universal in their declaration. They all served a purpose without complaint, which was approximately greater than I could say of myself.
I still had the rest of the day to finish. More tomorrow, to write about that day.
Life.
GJH 10
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| She looks so peaceful, but then again, I guess that's what she was looking for. First suicide rendered from the heights of the Empire State Building. |
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| Who could forget? |
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| Thought this was a UFO at first whoa! |
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| That's what I call relaxing. Construction of the Empire State Building... |
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| The Christmas tree ships are arriving... |
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| Poor tree. |
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