They shouted out “Megatron” and a burly dude walked up and took his Venti pumpkin spice latte. I’m now sitting down and watching the morning pedestrian traffic on 54th and 3rd. The line for coffee goes out the door. Everyone holding their side bag while looking at their phone. All just came from beds scattered across the five boroughs and beyond. And now I am part of this. My latte is a little too hot as it warms my throat in the Fall air, I have a pass that gets me into my building. I sit at a desk all day, answer questions about health insurance and laugh with my colleagues. A few days a week I see the man I fell in love with and ponder what is next. My evenings are filled up most nights with the new friends I have made. I spent a Friday night at a friend of a friends place knitting. I went to a broadway show on Thursday night and felt cynical about it and it shows how spoilt I have been. That distant myth that I will write something to satisfy my ache of creativity disappears around the next block. The next block after has another hot dog stand. I keep getting notifications of bands I have always wanted to see live, are performing in concert. But then I cannot afford to go, and then I am more honest and admit I really can’t sit through live music events too often. I need a chair and no one bumping against me in their own glee of seeing the band they have always wanted to see and saved up for. People walk by me asking each other “where are we? Is that the subway entrance?” in many languages. Every store is selling pumpkins and five dollar scarecrows. I can already see them face down in the trash. I rely too much on spell check. People are polite in NYC, always opening doors for each other. Movies tell us they aren’t. I am avoiding going up the elevator to my floor. I don’t like sitting down so long. This pumpkin spice latte does OK.
